


They Were, Old Peaks War

by Dragon_Mage



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Clones of the Mercenaries, M/M, Multi, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 71,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7527214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Mage/pseuds/Dragon_Mage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories of being 'Mercenaries of Teufort' linger in their minds, but they know they are not them. They know they are no longer in Teufort, in reality they never were. The clones of those men are used for a greater a war, a deciding factor in the world's future.<br/>Medic is not sure he wants to be used anymore. He has his own way of doing things, whether he is the man he remembers being or not, he is not going to stand by as somebody else's puppet. He will bring along a few new acquaintances if he needs to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Medical Clinic

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I started this thing back when I first got into the TF2 fandom. I'm posting it here for viewing. I might lose track of this for a while, but I'll come back to it eventually.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the medic and the spy of the Rebellion Army.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not actually know where I want this story to lead. But, expect some one sided relationships.

The hollowness of the medical clinic allowed the sounds outside to echo within. Within these walls was a semblance of safety, but only to a limited extent. There were ways to get in and ways to destroy the building itself.

The blast of explosions shook the ceiling and walls, making one uncertain of the integrity of the architecture. It laid no concern upon the medic though, who resumed his work without pause. He did not even pay mind to the sounds anymore, as death would come eventually.

Every man that he ever knew in this place. Every patient who ever came into his office. Every person he could have called friend. They all disappeared to the depths of death, some of them coming to his clinic for testing of diseases and poisons.

There were exceptions of course, but those were few and dislikable. The most notable of those exceptions was the spy, a man who had been here years more than the medic. The closest thing to a friend was the heavy weapon’s expert, who spent his free time pondering the doctor’s pre-written riddles and prearranged sets of chess.

The spy was notable for sneaking about. He was a reason to be warier about everybody. He could make people turn against their own men, and talk a man into killing himself. It was a terrifying thought, and a terrifying reality that he had to live and work around this spy. For somebody who had been around since the medic started here, he had been into the doctor’s office fewer times than any other man.

The heavy weapon’s expert was a big Russian man with a boisterous sense of humor. His big build made him the perfect man to handle large equipment, hefting large weapons around and assisting engineers.

He was not the most intelligent man, puzzled by even the simplest of medic’s executed plans. He was often unable to move for hours. He would sit at the table arranged with the chess pieces, pondering each and every move. As of yet, the man was unable to beat the medic when he was interested in winning. When he was distracted with performing medical procedures or otherwise did not want the heavy to feel too down on himself, the man would win with a simple loss of a piece guarding the king.

Today he was alone in his clinic. There was just the shaking of the building’s structure to comfort him in this place of silence. He could turn on the old recorder, inherited to him from the past medics, but he felt too irritable to listen to classics.

He looked over his notes as he mixed the substances. He craved some substance in what he was doing, to complete a puzzle that the men before him had yet to accomplish. He just wanted to make some form of change that nobody had thought of yet, if only for him to be known for the generations of medics to come.

A knock came at the door, interrupting his inner monologue. He frowned, disgusted at the intrusion. He just wanted some form of peace, if only to focus on this work.

“Hey uhh…” the familiar Boston accent came in as the door opened, “Doc? I was wondering if you could look at something for me.”

He sighed with irritation, moving his glasses off the bridge of his nose, “What is it, scout? Have you nothing better to do than to bother me in my work?”

“Well…you are a doctor,” the scout said, hesitantly, as he closed the door behind himself.

“Yes? And a man of science! Medical science!” he declared, “My work does not circle your lives!”

“Yea but…” scout’s face was turning red, “I just…thought you could help me out. You’re a doctor and all. Seems like your job.”

The medic sighed again, “What is your problem?”

“I uh…have a congenial problem,” the scout removed his hat from his head and cleared his throat.

“An agreeable problem?” the doctor quirked an eyebrow.

“Er…no,” the scout shook his head.

“A congenial problem?” the doctor pressed.

“Yeh,” the young man nodded.

The doctor rolled his eyes, “English is not but my second language, and yet I know what congenial means.”

“Oh…what does it mean?” the young man asked, with an innocently confused look on his face.

“Agreeable,” the doctor replied.

“Oh…right,” the scout hesitated, awkwardly.

The doctor shook his head and pulled some equipment off of the inspection table. He pulled a length of sanitary paper from the back, pulling it to the other end. He patted the paper down, forcing it to settle into place.

“Have a seat on the table and I’ll have a look at you,” he returned to his shelving, where he kept trinkets of his work.

The scout headed over to the table and clambered up onto the table. He rustled the paper a bit, as he adjusted his seat. He patted the metal table, straightening the wrinkles out of it.

“And what is it that you are having a problem with?” the medic wrapped his stethoscope over his shoulders.

“A sort of…issue…around the…generally sensitive area…” the scout said, hesitantly.

The medic eyed him thoughtfully. The scout was growing red in the face and motioned generally around his upper legs. Yet, he wanted to get specifics about what the issue was.

“Could you be verbally specific,” the medic tucked a couple of sticks into his breast pocket.

“Well, the long or the short?” scout asked.

The medic groaned with irritation at the man’s response. He did not care for the man’s jolting and informal speech. He was such an impolite type of person, whether it was his casual speech or his consistently self-absorbed attitude. His speech pattern was lacking in inspiration and structure at times.

“Just be more specific with what the problem is,” the medic groaned with disdain. He did not want to deal with this man any longer than he had to.

“Well, you see, I’ve got an issue…in the…er…lower regions…” the scout said, scratching the back of his hair, pushing his cap forward.

“Which scout did you say you were again?” the medic headed to his filing cabinet, opening it to the files of every man currently in the bunker.

He flipped through each file, searching through the classes. He organized them by class, keeping them to an orderly way that associated them to their training, exercise style and origins. There were too many scouts for him to guess at this one’s file though.

“I’m uh…” as he glanced over his shoulder he noted that the scout was grinning with the most mischievous look. He was not looking at the medic though, he looked like he was thinking about something else, as he gazed at something in his hand. “I’m scout number twenty-two.”

Medic frowned as he thumbed through the files in search of the file. He began to wonder what the scout was up to though. He was not great at English, or the customs the scout followed from his memories of New Jersey, but he had an understanding of the scout class. This was a type of person that was fast, a quick thinker who was always on his feet, ready to get to the punch, and especially a prankster.

The medic cleared his throat as he opened the file for scout twenty two, “It seems…there are some holes in your file.” He was lying as he flipped through the pages in his hand.

“Oh, is there?” the scout asked, a bit nervously.

He turned to face the scout, one hand behind his back and the other holding the pages in front of his face. He gave the scout an assuring smile, “Could you fill me in on your previous injuries through the past three years?”

“Der…uhh…” scout started scratching the back of his neck, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling.

“Surely you can remember how many times you’ve broken your bones, or even your teeth,” the medic pressed.

“Oh yea,” the scout snapped his fingers, having conjured the thoughts he wanted, “I’ve broken my shins twice. My arm once. Twice actually. And I nicked a tooth.”

“So many breaks in bones,” the medic said, tentatively, “Why didn’t you come to see me about those?”

“Oh…well…uh…” the scout shrugged, “I’m not much for whining about pain. I’m pretty tolerant of it and all. I just walked it off!”

“Uh huh…” medic removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, “Walked off…broken shins?”

“Uh huh! Yup!” the scout replied, eagerly.

The medic closed the folder and turned back to the filing cabinet, “So tell me, scout.”

“Yea? Hum?” he could hear the cocky smile in the scout’s voice.

“Ah…so were all of these breaks within the past month, scout?” the medic asked.

“D-err…” scout hesitated, “Umm…you asked about the past three years though…right?”

“Well…I figured you might bring up something you didn’t mention at your previous checkup last month,” medic explained, as he tucked the file away, “So tell me scout twenty-two, have you need for prostate exams again?”

“P-pr- wait wait! Hold up! I’m not here for that!” the scout exclaimed, hopping off the examination table.

“You were due next week for another checkup,” the medic snatched up a blue glove, snapping it onto his appendage, “But now is good as ever.”

“NOPE! NO THANK YOU!” the scout darted from the room, just in time to slam face first into a duplicate.

The medic looked on as the two scouts rubbed their heads. They were identically dressed, not just for their class, but down to the details, one had copied another. When the newcomer lifted his head, he frowned at the other scout.

“Hey! You! Gimme that!” he leaped at the scout who claimed to be scout twenty-two. He clawed at the other man’s neck for what appeared to be a decorative choke chain.

The medic chuckled to himself as he removed the glove. It had all been a clever ruse, and it seemed to be unraveling for the scout already. Whatever he was planning, whoever he intended to prank, was being undone.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” the scout who originally arrived flipped the other scout over his head, flinging him across the office.

The medic roared with outrage, “No no! Get out! Not in my office!”

“Me? What are you doing?” the scout quickly got to his feet, ready to turn on the other.

“Stop it! Stop!” the medic reached out to grab one of them, but both scouts darted from the office. They were too fast for him to even demand an explanation.

“Scouts playing games with your office, doc?” the familiar French accent caught him off guard.

He flinched, turning his attention to the Frenchman entering his clinic. He was by far one of the most unique men of his class, especially for the more experienced of men. He wore a colorful scarf that was not particularly aesthetically pleasing, but seemed to hold a certain beauty, almost as if it held some sentimental value. He had a small white nick, an old scar to the side of his right eye, something he gained during battle. But, like every other man of his class, he held a cigarette between his teeth, a burning stick that seemed to bring his mood down to a mellow tone.

“Such morons,” the medic muttered in German.

“Such crisis,” the Frenchman replied in the same language.

“What do you need spy?” the medic asked.

“I was just dropping by,” the man pulled the cigarette out to let the rest of the smoke from his lungs.

“If you continue smoking that, you will die quicker with the aid of cancerous tumors,” the medic noted, as he closed up the filing cabinet. He grew a bit worried that the spy might get a little too close to the confidential data.

“We’ll all die a lot quicker from the battlefront,” the spy replied.

“Point taken,” the medic placed his glasses in their proper place upon the bridge of his nose.

“You have been working on something lately?” the spy asked, leaning against a wall. He put the cigarette back in his mouth and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Do you care?” the medic asked, walking in a half circle, placing his body in between the spy and his desk, in a sense.

“It’s of no interest in particular to me what you are doing,” the Frenchman stated, “I was just making small talk.”

“Since when do you wander into my office?” the medic demanded.

“It’s rather boring…demomen, soldiers and scouts have all tired my patience. Not to mention the lacking of intellect among the heavys,” the spy explained, his eyes meandering around the room, “I want to forget about the pyros.”

“I see,” medic cleared his throat, pushing his recent notes into a pile of random papers that would mean nothing if the spy saw them.

“Not even an attempt at conversing?” the man asked, with uncertainty.

“I’m not exactly used to you arriving in my clinic,” he replied, turning to face the spy squarely, “Even with illness or ailment, it seems you elude my office for the sake of avoiding me.”

“Apple a day keeps the medical practitioner away, they say,” the spy replied, “Or at least, that’s what I hear.”

“So they say,” the medic leaned back on his desk.

“Well…” the spy removed the cigarette from his mouth, studying him pensively. His sharp eyes seemed to take in every detail, studying him from head to toe.

“What?” he pressed, wanting the spy to stop looking so quiet and pensive.

“You’re not a very talkative person when you aren’t seeing somebody for an injury, are you?” the spy asked.

“It’s not a commonality that I get visitors within my office,” he shrugged, “Most people who arrive in my office have a set of goals. Most commonly to have a sickness treated or an injury repaired.” He looked the Frenchman from head to toe and back. “And you are neither,” he stated, with a bold tone.

“That…Russian heavy comes to your office quite often,” the spy replied, “Even when he is not injured.”

“He is an exception in that not most others will spend unending hours overthinking a game of chess,” he gestured with one hand dramatically, to emphasize the time spent on a single move.

“So, not an intimate partner,” the spy stated, in a pensive tone.

The medic felt his face flush, the blood rising to his face with a tone of embarrassment. “No! Not at all!” he exclaimed, feeling humiliated by such an assumption.

“Good,” the spy said pensively.

“Why? It’s none of your business whether anybody was having any relations with anybody in this place!” the medic proclaimed, “Why would you come to such a conclusion anyways? Normal people have normal conversations with normal people, spending the time of day on a game or deep conversation.”

“Everybody knows Dr. Aurick Radlof and every clone of him is homosexual. So, it’s not a far stretch to assume what you do with the attentions of men in your office,” the Frenchman shrugged.

His face grew hotter and hotter with outrage and embarrassment. He was not even sure what to say in response. Attempting to refuse the accusations would mean nothing to the spy, who had the specs on every single man in every team, not just the classes.

“Don’t be so taken aback,” the spy went on, placing the stick between his teeth again, “It’s not as if nobody knows. Everyone knows the classes.”

The medic paused, taking a breath. Every clone was near identical to the original, from their memories down to their personalities. With that, he pushed the front of his hair back, composing himself. He would simply delve into what he knew about the spy class.

“Perhaps I should bring up that Gabin Belhumeur was a sociopath, whose array of personality disorders were passed on into most every spy,” the medic went on, hoping to cut into the man’s fervent attempt to humiliate him in his own office.

“It is reliant to my job,” the spy replied, barely batting an eye at the accusation.

The medic was taken by surprise at the man’s reluctant shrug. He was not even fazed at the thought. It had already occurred to him that he was just as sociopathic as the man he was cloned after.

He cleared his throat, “Do you think even half of the men here would trust you in the bunker, knowing you were a sociopath?”

The Frenchman quirked an eyebrow at him, “What point are you getting to? I’m already an untrusted class in every team.”

“Do you really think that a scout…or a demoman…or even a soldier…has read thoroughly through the specs sheets? If they had, would they really hesitate to kill the spies in the same building as them?” the medic went on. He put every ounce of heat and callousness into his tone that he could muster.

“Then what has held you back?” the spy asked.

He hesitated, “What?”

“Why haven’t you attempted to be rid of me? Or any other scout that has come through this facility, for that matter?” he pulled the cigarette from his teeth to let the smoke out before placing it back between his lips, “I’ve been here for thirteen years and you’ve yet to approach me with a blade. If I’m such a perceived threat, surely you had debated getting rid of my class.”

“No,” the medic shook his head slowly, “In the long term perspective of the war…the spy is a necessary evil.”

He chuckled, a dark and menacing sound, “So you think of me as evil?”

“I don’t believe in evil, parse,” the medic shrugged. He turned around to look at the papers on his desk, just to busy himself for a little while.

“What do you believe in?” the spy pressed, “If you do not believe in evil, then what is good?”

“What is good you ask?” the doctor paused, turning slowly to look at the spy. He felt a little entranced by the question, as it invoked much deeper thinking, the way a chess board invoked the heavy’s inner patience.

“Yes, that is what I asked!” the spy exclaimed, taken back by the question.

The medic chuckled at the response, “It’s not what we do here, that’s for sure!”

“You consider our work here to be evil, despite not believing in evil?” the spy asked.

“I suppose it is a contradiction,” the medic replied.

“I don’t suppose you would have pondered this before,” the spy went on.

“This is a conundrum I am sure each and every man debates in this time within these walls,” he stated, with a dismissive shrug.

The walls outside echoed with scouts’ voices, “You’re dead to me!”

“Of course…I suppose there are those whose only conundrums are who to prank next,” the medic went on.

“Indeed,” the spy nodded.

The medic paused for a bit. It seemed odd, and took him out of the conversation, just to think of having this conversation. The spy would normally occasion the common area, with everybody else. There were conversations to be had there, talks of good lives and old times that they remembered.

Medic was left alone to his office and clinic. Once in a while, casualties would be limped into this area, but otherwise only the heavy ever came to visit. And otherwise it was prearranged. It was usually checkups, mandated by the higher ups’ offices. So, to be here visiting with the spy in an off duty manner felt odd in itself. Let alone this deep concept discussion about good and evil.

“It seems the battlements outside of our fortress have quieted down,” the spy noted, “Scouts, soldiers and heavy classes will be requiring your assistance rather quick here.”

The medic shook his head slowly, “They’ll avoid the clinic like the plague.”

“You don’t think any of them might have been shot? Or twisted an ankle?” the spy went on.

“A bullet can be pulled out with a dagger and cauterized with heat on the blade,” the medic waved his arm dismissively, “And the scouts are known to walk off their ankles sprains. They’ll deal as they always do.”

“I see,” the spy sounded pensive.

“Why do you ask this? You avoid my clinic most of all,” the medic turned back around to face the spy squarely. He was surprised to see that the Frenchman was standing closer to him than before.

He had a relaxed poise to himself. His eyes were slightly narrowed, his nose slightly lifted, so that he looked very haughty and above the medic, despite being a couple centimeters shorter. One arm crossed over his chest, the hand tucking under his other arm, which tucked up against his side. That hand held the cigarette away from his body at a thirty-degree angle, letting the smoke waft and the ash slowly start to crumble to the floor.

His eyes became drawn to the stick, as the ash began to fall to his pristine waxed floor. He felt outraged and horrified as the gray bits began to litter his floor. He was immediately pushed over the edge, as the spy absent mindedly flicked the butt with his thumb, sending more ash tumbling to the hardwood flooring.

“No! NO!” he shouted, reaching to grab the spy by the throat, “Get it out! Out of my office! Out! Away with you!” He hardly realized that he was shouting in German as his hands clamped around air.

The spy darted backwards, moving just out of range. He was strangely graceful and poise, as he moved without looking where he was going. He simply loped to the door, opening it wide enough to step through. He paused only for a moment, giving the doctor a complacent smile.

“My apologies, doctor,” he stated, before he closed the door behind himself.

The doctor stood there in the middle of the room for a long time. He was panting heavily, his face completely filled with heat. When he managed to compose himself, he looked down at the ash that was now under his boot.

“Good gracious,” he muttered, as he went to fetch the broom and dustpan.

As he swept up the debris, he felt a strange overwhelming calm. It was so quiet in the room that he had to start thinking to fill his mind with some form of sound. He realized now that the spy was right, all of the ringing of explosions and gunfire had stopped, leaving the room quiet and still, almost as if it had become a shrine of tranquility.

It was a little awe inspiring, if only for the time being. Yet, it did not distract him from realizing what had just happened. It could not keep his mind from concocting more and more thoughts that would continue to make him bleed with the sensation of useless frustration.

When he rose to his feet, he looked at the dustpan. He had been so angry to see his clean floors so dirty. It was a horrid feeling, but thinking about this felt even worse. He wanted to stop thinking about it but he could not help but compare those ashes to the many times he had blood, guts, piss and other sorts of vile entities splash across his floor. He was never angry before, because the floor became a casualty of incidence and the tragedy of his career, the only thing he would ever be known for.


	2. Cards and Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spy and the soldier plan for gathering not intel but a new device. Medic is confused about where he stands in all of this planning.

Sifting through his hand of cards, the soldier was too distracted by the game at hand to bother looking up when the spy entered. It was not as if he was anything relatively special. He was the only spy in their battalion, but his class was not considered special either, as most other warriors would answer to a soldier first. Even the dumbfounded heavy was more fearsome than a spy.

Even the scouts would taunt the spy. They taunted this spy on a daily basis, uncaring of what the spy might do in response. They would not dare taunt a soldier or a heavy. They especially would not taunt a sniper, who could secretly take them down during battle, and face no consequences for it.

“Spy, you were at the doctor’s office, weren’t ya?” one of the scouts asked.

Soldier glanced up at the scout, best known as Japs. He was the oldest of the scouts, but that was not saying much. Only in battle for four years, Japs was the cockiest and most high strung of the scouts. He would taunt the spy first, and be followed quickly by others.

“Leave him alone, mate,” a sniper said. The Australian called Maury waved the spy over.

The soldier watched over his hand as the spy slinked over towards the group of snipers and demomen, who had gathered for a game of poker, separate from the soldiers’ game. Only a couple of them set down their cards. The rest either busied themselves with debating their chances of winning or attempting to look intensely distracted.

“What is your toxin?” the spy asked.

“Have a beer mate,” the sniper called Slick lifted a bottle to the spy.

The Frenchman took a seat between two of the snipers. He seemed rather relaxed, as if he were one of them. He placed an ankle on the opposite knee, as he sat back to sip his beer and watch the game.

“Spy!” one of the other soldiers barked.

He snapped his head up to see the oldest of the soldiers had spoken. He was called General, for his higher ranking and self-asserted authority over the entire bunker. He had risen from his seat to assert his position at the table, making it clear to the spy where he was and which soldier he was.

Very few of the soldiers had anything to tell them apart. Some skirted the edge of being individuals. But overall, the soldiers stuck to what was assigned to them, the uniform, helmet and their guns. There was nothing more they needed as soldiers.

“Ugh,” the spy groaned with discontent, going on in his dainty language.

“No worries mate,” Slick told the spy, “Next time.”

With a heavy sigh, the spy rose from his seat and strolled over to the group of soldiers. Most turned their heads to sneer or scowl at him. No soldier liked a spy, a creepy sneaking snake that weaved through the shadows. Being their own spy, the soldiers here had to deal with more enemy spies than the soldiers on the other team.

“I have some questions,” General stated, loudly.

“Okay?” the spy pressed, with an impatient look on his face.

“My office, now!” General pointed in the direction of his office, before heading that way himself.

The spy rolled his eyes dramatically and let his shoulder sink. He was dramatic in every way, almost like an actor on the stage. Though, the soldier still looking on supposed that he needed to be an actor, to keep up the guises he took on during missions.

“Here,” somebody distracted him.

He turned to see the soldier to his right handing him a cigar, a fancy rolled thing from Cuba. It had been imported, made from only the finest tobacco and happened to be his favorite. It made him smile, as old fond memories tickled his mind about a time and place he had never actually seen.

“Is this my birthday or what?” he asked.

“You scratched my back,” the other soldier responded, “I scratch yours.”

“Nice workin’ with ya,” he nodded, before lighting up the cigar.

 

*********************************************************************

 

“What is it, Soldier number one?” the spy asked as he slinked into the office.

General growled beneath his breath. The spy was not one to respect authority, especially not that of the American type. He had no respect for any of his American colleagues, and certainly did not show any concern for American teammates who fell on the battlefield. Any chance he got to defend a scout, or rescue a weapon’s engineer, would go missed on purpose.

“Your disrespect has been noted,” General stated in a growl, “But there are more pressing matters to deal with.”

“And what is that?” the spy replied. He lifted his nose a quarter of an inch, making his stature look even haughtier than it usually did.

General raised his own stature, straightening his back. He was not so much sizing the spy up as taking a stance that made him feel stronger in the presence of an inferior. He took to scanning the other man, checking to see if there was any reason to be wary of him.

“What is it? Get on with your speech,” the spy pressed, “I haven’t got all day.”

“On the contrary, boy! You have all week!” he growled with disdain.

“Let’s move it along,” the spy growled.

“We have gained intel that there is a new prototype going to the Collective Nations Military,” General explained.

“Prototype? Prototype for what?” the spy asked.

General paused with uncertainty, “We’re not sure.”

“Who is we? If I’ve not gotten this intel, then where has this come from?” the spy asked.

He shook his head, “Our connection at headquarters. They’ve had some spies working in the background…apparently.” He paused to rub his nose.

“So my work is not up to the snuff?” the spy asked, his eyes narrowing a bit further.

“I wouldn’t say it was your skills but rather location at which they received this information,” General explained.

“Location?” he hesitated.

Some feeling emanated from the Frenchman’s eyes, a rare sight to behold. It was a sensation of homesickness and sadness. General understood the feeling, wishing he could go back to those memories and return to Wyoming. Or at least the Wyoming of his memories.

“Meaning outside of our battle domain,” General explained, “Where _we_ are never to set foot.”

“Riiiight…” the spy paused, reaching into his breast pocket for a cigarette.

“Hold off on the cigarette for now, boy,” General replied, sternly, “We’ve got to make sure we have a plan aligned for retrieval of that prototype.”

“We don’t even know what the prototype is for,” the spy said, “Unless you simply refuse to tell me that information, I don’t have a reason to retrieve anything in regards to this prototype.”

General chuckled heartily. The spy was bluffing beyond all means. There was no ordering him around when it came down to missions. He was a man of intellect, curiosity and stealth. Whether or not he claimed disinterest in the mission, he would go to get something, whether it was a small bit of information or the entire prototype itself. That was simply integral to his nature, and General knew that well.

“Have it your way,” General snickered, “But, the others are not to be privy of the information. Not the soldiers or the demomen…not even the engineers.”

“Why is that?” the spy asked.

“This prototype is unknown to us, but this mission will require more stealth than the usual mission,” he replied, “Even _their_ men don’t know about the prototype. There is a stark few aware of its arrival at their bunker. It’ll be there in two days.”

“And you want to take the prototype entirely?” the spy asked, “Without any of our teammates knowing what they are getting into?”

“They don’t have to know,” General replied, “They only need to know that we are on an intel mission. Then we get the prototype out.”

“And you need me for that,” the spy chuckled, “Would make sense no less.”

“I will leave you to finding the prototype and its information. If you require assistance, we’ll have a communication system,” General explained, “I have had some engineers working on a new communications system. Something you can put in your ear to connect with the rest of the team.”

“Seems like a large project that will require a lot of materials,” the spy noted.

“We’ll only require one for each sniper, two for the engineers, two for the soldiers, one for the demomen, one for the heavies and one for you,” he explained, “It won’t be every person on the radios.

“What about the scouts?” the spy asked.

“There are too many of them,” the soldier explained, “And they’ll answer to the soldiers anyways.”

“And the medic?” the spy pressed.

General flinched, taken aback just a little. He often forgot about the medic’s presence on the battleground, given the man had no general fighting reason to be there. With so much going on and so many loud and obnoxious fighters, it was easy to forget the presence of a single German, who typically kept to himself, passing around different forms of healing. He did not think about it for too long, knowing that the medic class should normally stay close to the heavys.

“He’ll be with the heavys,” General explained, “We don’t need to worry about one more of those.”

“The medic does not rely upon the heavy,” the spy replied, sternly, “He will not stay by the heavy, as he heals all classes. He should be one of the more important classes to arm with this communication device.”

“Fine fine!” General waved his hand dismissively, “We’ll give one of the communication devices from the snipers and give it to the medic.”

The spy shook his head slowly, his fingers slipping into his breast pocket to pull out a cigarette. He paused to light up the tobacco, taking a deep puff. He reached over to knock the ashes off in General’s ash tray on the desk.

“We need to plan for this mission according to important classes,” the spy went on, “Not according to your usual hierarchy. If we do not tend to the classes accordingly, we’ll be disadvantaged in more than this one mission.”

“What do you mean by that?” General growled.

“I mean, that we only have a single medic,” the spy went on, with a warning tone of voice, “If we lose that one medic, we lose all hope. Every injury. Every boo boo. Every single gunshot wound will mean the death of you without the medic.”

“I have the survival skills of a man with only a slingshot and a pack of gum! You think I can’t handle my men without some German Nazi fag in that clinic!?” General roared with outrage.

“You sorely underestimate this war,” the spy stated, taking another long drag of the cigarette, “The moment has passed. You will sorely miss the German fag if you let him die.”

“We’ll post him with the snipers,” General growled, “That way he’ll be guarded and out of immediate danger. In the meantime, I’ll put in an order for more medics.”

“That does not concern me,” the spy stated, “The doctor is more experienced than any new clone would be. And every medic in the enemy’s arsenal has less know how and ability than he. On his own, he is the most capable healer. And from experience, he is a vicious fighter. He will be an aid to the mission, and has always been keeping our more experienced members alive.”

“Alright then! Don’t have to drive your point in,” General waved dismissively.

“So…what’s your plan?” the spy asked.

“We will go in with a stance to lower their barriers’ defense. I’m expecting a transportation vehicle for an extremely large explosive device,” General explained.

“You mean a bomb? You intend to bring a bomb into all of this? We don’t even afford bombs!” the spy went on with slight panic.

“Relax spy,” General growled, “We aren’t going to transport any actual device of mass destruction. It’ll be a decoy.”

“A decoy? So…your plan…?” the spy pressed a bit more, hoping to get more information out of him.

“Erm…” the soldier hesitated, unsure of what else to give the spy.

“If you are not going to share your full plan with me, then this is going to be a failure,” the Frenchman’s haughty accent grated on his nerves.

“It’s…erm…it’s a work in progress,” General explained, with a feeling of uncertainty. Now that he thought about it more, he had not fully thought out all of the details of what they would do when they got to the enemy base.

“You don’t have a plan, do you?” the spy asked. The soldier said nothing, but he tried to find something he could say. “You have compiled a number of things, but you haven’t actually put together a plan of action?” the spy asked, with disgust on his face.

“It’s…it’s a work in progress,” General stated.

“And what will you do to make sure each man is informed and understanding of this brilliant plan of yours?” the spy spat out of spite, “Without a thorough plan, the entire team can be wiped out!”

“I’m aware of the fallbacks of my planning skills,” General growled in admission, “But let’s keep the facts straight!”

“Then where is it that we will be ejecting the intel from? If it is not from the usual information deck, that is,” the spy paused to glance over at the boarded window. It was cold outside, and ice was starting to form on the boards, creeping into the room.

“Planning is where you come in, isn’t it?” the General growled.

He was growing impatient with the spy. It was like this so much that he was tired of reminding the Frenchman. It almost came to the point where he had to admit that the spy was better at tactics and planning than he was. This was not meant to be his position in the first place, being a soldier clone of the infamously stupid Theodore Armand Randal. But, unlike every other soldier on this team, General had asserted some form of intellectual dominance, even if it was beneath some other classes.

“If you are not going to bring things to the point, then don’t bother with the pathetic titles,” the spy went on.

“What are you saying, spy?” he growled, his anger growing hotter.

“I’m saying you might as well forget the title of General. Such a pathetic assertion,” he responded.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Medic heard a click from the speaker console by the door. A soldier’s voice came over the speaker, in a gruff tone. It was mostly not distracting compared to the rest of the noise he heard as he worked. That was, until he heard something interesting.

“…we need…er…yea medic, please report to the debriefing room,” the soldier stammered, as if trying to read something.

“Debriefing room?” he hesitated, feeling a bit uncertain.

He was not sure whether to feel disheartened or excited about this. Mostly he felt disturbed from his work, to which he wanted to return. But, the debriefing room was most often used for meeting with new clones, new recruits fresh from the higher ups’ training grounds. This could mean that new doctors had been sent in.

He pulled on his lab coat, wanting to look presentable. He paused in front of a mirror to straighten his tie. He did not know how he felt about no longer being the only medic around, he had been the only one for so long. It seemed like everything might change from here. But still, he needed to look presentable as their superior medic.

He would assert his dominance as their superior. He assured himself that he would be ready for this, whether he wanted it or not. He would figure out whether he liked it or not later. So, he tucked his smallest hand gun under his coat, just in case. It would not be the first time an enemy spy snuck in and created a stir in order to kill off a few members of this crew.

He pondered that way of going about taking out a team, as he made his way through the corridors. Had it ever occurred to anybody to do that to the enemy? Or perhaps, was that why they did not have as many spies? They may very well have lost all of their other spies to that sort of situation.

Yet, it seemed like the sheer number of enemy was unfair. Not only was his own team lacking in numbers, being as their higher ups did not send in enough clones to replenish the dead, but the enemy replenished their dead as quickly as they were killed off.

He paused at the door, looking at the door knob. He was about to step in and face the soldier named General, perhaps the scarf wearing spy and some new recruits. He had to be sure he was presentably ready. He took a deep breath and straightened his back.

“I am ready,” he told himself, as he opened the door.

He stumbled into a more surprising array. The usual arrangement of tables looking at the projector was replaced by a long table covered in blue prints and other papers. There did not seem to be any new recruits, as most all of those in attendance looked older and familiar to him.

“What’s…” medic hesitated, one hand still on the door knob.

“Please, join us,” the spy said in a snide tone of voice that bespoke of irritation and impatience.

“Enter and shut the door!” the soldier called General commanded, with urgency.

Medic closed the door behind himself and stepped up towards the table, between an engineer and a sniper. They were looking at the blue prints and papers arrayed on the table. It looked like a meeting about some form of plan, though he was at a loss for what it was for. He had worked himself up to greeting new medic recruits.

“So here and here is where we’re marking points of snipers? What if they have their own snipers installed there?” one of the snipers spoke up.

“That’s why we need the scouts split up between the classes,” an engineer explained.

They pointed out positions on a map. It seemed to show the outer layout of the enemy’s fortress. There were towers and fences, as well as some rubble that they would use to their advantage.

“So, we’ll post sentries here and here,” another engineer noted, pointing to the positions.

“And where are we sending the heavy weapons guys?” the first engineer asked, “Straight in? Or…cause we may have to alter our positions accordingly. Wouldn’t want to shoot our own in the back.”

“We want the heavy fire to draw the enemy out of their base,” the General said in a commanding voice.

The medic listened on as they talked about each member’s position. It felt like a game of strategy with unknown results. Of course, they were probably after some paperwork hidden in the intelligence room. That was the only reason for going after the enemy’s base.

It must have been near two years ago that they last tried to hit the enemy’s base. It was so far away and with so few to leave behind to guard the base, it was a difficult plan. So now, it seemed like an inopportune moment.

It did not feel right in the slightest, taking so many with them and leaving so few behind. The base would be left vulnerable to spies. Even with whomever they left to guard it, the spies could easily sneak past them. And with how few they were in comparison to the enemy, they were a small garrison going up against an army at the source.

“Alright then ladies!” the soldier named General caught his attention with a bark, “We move out at o-four hundred!”

“Understood,” several of them responded, but most did not care.

The medic looked around at the others. He was not sure what exactly warranted his appearance there. They had not mentioned him in the slightest. Had they forgotten that they had invited him in?

He turned to speak with General, but the soldier was already muttering something to the spy. Spy listened with half an ear, as he lit a fag, his eyes focused mostly on the flame.

“Was there…any point to me coming?” the medic spoke up, in interruption.

“Yes!” General barked, without a second thought about it.

Medic hesitated, listening for further response. The spy was preoccupied with his fag and the soldier stood there, looking as stupid as the soldier class stereotypically was. They just left the air clear of any detailed answer.

“I suppose I should phrase the question as, ‘why am I here?’” he asked.

“Your position was not a point of conjecture as the other classes are more concerned with what they are doing,” the spy spoke up.

“Then my presence was for what?” the medic replied, feeling a bit put aside.

“You need to be aware of the positions of the other classes,” spy stated, “Your work will be some of the most important, as you’ll have to switch between classes based on who takes the most damage. Your work will require your decisions, rather than our positioning. You might have to change course quite randomly.”

“You had me wait through this meeting for that?” the medic growled with irritation. Here he had been planning to introduce the job to new recruits, but now he was being given the vaguest job in the operation.

“We’ll be assigning you to a communications device,” General added, “So when we assemble, report to the engineers’ station. They’ll set you up with what you need.”

“Alright…” the medic hesitated, eyeing the spy and then the soldier.

The soldier was standing erect and awkward. It was strange, given how smart the man could be. He was not stupid like his contemporaries, but rather had enough in his mind to take command of the entire base.

The spy on the other hand was being aloof and uncaring of what was going on. He was focused on his fag, enjoying every drag on its smoke. His eyes might as well have been forcibly glued to staring down his nose.

“I suppose I shall retire to the clinic then to make sure my equipment is up to date and ready,” he winced as he thought of how much time he could have been given to prepare.

He had not oiled his kritzkrieg in a long time. He was not sure if his equipment was ready to be used yet. For all he knew, it had rusted where it sat on the wall. He would not mention that though, as it was supposed to be his job to keep everything up to snuff and ready for a fight.

“While you’re at it,” the spy interrupted his thoughts, “Study up on this map.” He paused to push a map towards the medic. “You may need to know it and where everybody will be.”

“I see,” the medic took the map, rolling it up in one hand.


	3. Scout Number Thirty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The medic receives a visit from a distraught scout.

As the late night drilled on, the medic became enraged with the trigger on his contraption. He had been fiddling with it for near an hour, but still the trigger on the medigun. He now had anti-rust on his hands, making his fingers very slippery, and still no idea as to why the trigger clicked but did not cause anything to happen.

He growled with frustration that one of his most important weapons was not working, “Why couldn’t they have given us more forewarning?”

He grabbed a flathead screwdriver and began fiddling with the piece surrounding the trigger. Perhaps if he opened it up and got a better look inside he would know what was wrong. It would be similar to opening up a patient and getting a better idea of what was going on with their organs. This worked much of the time either way.

“Hey um…doc?” a familiar American voice caught his attention. He spun around to glare at the scout. “Got a minute?” the smaller man held no hesitations as he gave the door frame a gentle knock with his knuckles.

“This had better be important!” he declared.

“This…will…probably only take a few minutes,” the scout implored.

The medic growled with disdain as he wiped his dirty hands upon a filthy rag. He was in no position to open up a scout if it came to that. But he would make do with the germicide and gloves at his desk. He headed towards the area where he usually met with patients, and was followed by the scout.

“This is very presumptuous of you, at twenty-three o’ seven,” the medic noted the time on the clock, as he ran his hands under the water of the sink.

“Yea…it’s just that uh…something came…up…and since we’re leaving in a few hours…I better see the doc before I mess up the whole mission…or die or something…” the scout’s words started trailing off.

“Gah…” the doctor growled as he pulled on a pair of blue gloves, “What is the fuss?”  
“I’m sure this’ll only take a few minutes. Just a couple seconds, that’s all,” the scout insisted.

“A few minutes and a couple of seconds are very different things,” the medic strolled towards his cabinet of files, “Choose your words more wisely from now on. Now, which scout were you, exactly?” He pulled open the drawer, ready to thumb through the files for the correct one.

“Oh, ahem…I’m sure my history won’t be necessary or anything. It’s not like it’s applicable,” the scout insisted, hopping up onto the examination table.

“On the contrary,” the medic snarled with irritation, “The medical history is always applicable.” He paused for effect, hoping the scout might just answer the question. “What is your number, scout?” he demanded.

The scout sighed, as if with regret, “Scout thirty-one. Just another scout.”

The medic did not respond, he just thumbed through the records to find the man’s file. It was only a year old, as scout 31 had only been in this war a year so far. There were fourteen visits on file, one being the first check up when he arrived, and the other thirteen being injury visits.

“So what brought you to my office on this _late_ night,” he spoke with frustrated emphasis on how inconvenient this was.

“I was hoping…” the scout hesitated, feeling a little stressed by the medic’s anger.

He made sure to display that frustration, as he approached the examination table. He wanted the scout to be fully aware of just what a pain he was and how the medic hated having to deal with this situation. What kind of situation was it anyways? And why did it have to come at such a late hour.

The scout’s eyes wandered across the floor, searching hopelessly. He looked quite desperate, as he searched for carefully placed words. He cleared his throat as he tried to focus his mind on those words he sought.

“I was wondering if you uh…had anything to uh…” he scratched the back of his neck nervously.

He glanced up at the medic and cringed. It was obvious that the medic’s ever-growing-closer presence was making him uncomfortable. That or there was something disconcerting on his mind that he was hesitant to share with the medical professional.

“Come now!” the medic demanded, “Spit it out!”

“I was wondering if you have anything that can take the edge off?” the scout winced, one eye closing in anticipation of some form of pain.

“What? For pain? Are you injured? Or just stupid?” the medic growled.

“No…I mean for…I guess I’m…a little anxious,” the scout explained.

“A little anxious?” the medic tightened his hands into fists.

He was growing enraged. This little cretin came to him on a late night for day-before-battle jitters. And the scout actually had it in his mind that he would get some drugs to ease his mind about having night-before butterflies.

“You are a little…anxious?” he growled with frustration.

“It’s just…I don’t normally get this way,” the scout explained, his eyes refusing to look to the medic. He was scratching the back of his neck and avoiding the medic in every way he could manage. “I…I feel preemptively like I’m in the battlefield,” he explained.

“Preemptively…” the medic took a step back, and pulled his glasses from his face. He wiped them on his waist coat, hoping to give himself a moment to calm his mind. He wanted to unleash his outrage though.

“You know what I mean?” the scout pressed, “I mean, I can’t even sleep at the moment. I can already hear the rattatatta of the heavy’s machine gun. It’s thrumming in my head and I can’t even lie down. I’ve got such a rush like I’m there already.”

The medic cleared his throat as he placed his glasses on his nose. He turned his eyes to the scout and scowled with regret. He regretted ever letting the man into his clinic. He should have shouted at him and chased him out before he got all the way to his examination table.

“You came into my clinic…” he paused for dramatic effect, letting his angered tone sink into the scout’s ears, “You’ve bothered me at this late hour. And you expect me to treat you for night-before-battle jitters? What kind of moron are you?!”

The scout was silent for a few moments. He winced away from the medic, looking wary. It would not be the first time the medic threw a violent tantrum at a patient.

It was something that made being the doctor worthwhile. He could only keep his peace through violence. Any patient that bothered him or acted out of sorts would easily be chased away, even with his guts falling from his torso, with the medic’s sporadic behavior and swinging punches.

Sure he was not really a fighter. It was the reason he was not given a presumed gun. His only chosen weapons were preemptive healing and medical tools that could fix battle injuries on the fly.

He would have liked to have a gun though. He often took the weapons from the fallen classes. A shotgun from a mortally wounded engineer. A pistol from a murdered spy. A large meat carving knife from a sniper thrown from his perch by a demoman’s blast.

He glanced over at his small collection of weaponry on the wall with his standard attire medic gear. There was one blank spot, where his medigun usually hung. He was tempted to take down the engineer class standard shot gun to plaster the walls with the contents of the scout’s skull.

“I’m not trying to be a bother or anything,” the scout insisted, “Like…I mean…do you have a pill…or a shot or something? I mean, you’ve got anesthetics, I imagine you have such drugs that ease patients when they’re worked up about a procedure.”

“When a patient is worked up about a procedure,” he turned his eyes back to the scout. He could only feel the blood thirsty rage growing stronger, as that enticing idea lingered. “I simply use the straps to keep them still.”

The scout flinched, looking at the examination table’s accessories. He swallowed down a lump of fear, as he turned back to the medic. There was fear building up in his eyes.

“Now, leave my clinic before I use you for a guinea pig of science!” the medic hissed in warning.

“I-I…” the scout stammered, leaning away from the medic.

“Go now before I cut you open!” the medic warned.

“I’m just here to see a doctor!” the scout spat defensively. He straightened his back, bringing himself fully upward. He even started to learn towards the medic.

“Don’t grow a spine now, scout,” the medic growled.

“Scout this and scout that all you want! I came here to see a medic, not a psychopath!” the scout raised his voice. His courage was coming from a burning anger that was growing stronger with every word. “I came here with an issue that needed to be solved, are you a medic or not?!” the scout declared.

The medic scoffed a laugh, “Jitters are not my job.”

“I have anxiety! It’s not jitters! When I cannot even sleep there is a serious medical problem!” the scout raised his voice higher.

The medic was aware that he was losing control. He would need to regain some form of control. Perhaps if he grabbed the smaller man by the neck and gave him a shake. If he bruised the front with the marks of his fingers, the scout would be rattled and he would have the bruise to remind him.

“You don’t know anything about the medical sciences and what is and isn’t a medical necessity,” the medic growled, “What you’re experiencing is merely a bout of the pre-battle jitters and will not be easily solved. Medicine is not what you need, but rather to get the fuck over yourself.”

“You don’t know anything about it,” the scout growled as he scooted off the examination table.

“Oh I don’t?” the medic scoffed, “I’ve been fighting these fights and rolling in the trenches for years now. You’ve yet to be here more than a year.”

The scout scoffed, “You don’t know what it is like to be a scout.”

“I highly doubt I would want to,” the medic chuckled at the thought.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” the scout poked him in the chest. He had a bold look about him, despite his smaller stature. “You don’t know how it is for scouts,” he growled with disdain, “You think it’s so rough being the medic? You’re one of the most needed classes here. And the only reason we don’t have more is that the enemy targets you. And I’ll bet the only reason you aren’t dead is because allies have been looking out for you!”

“That would be the point of team work, moron,” the medic growled.

“You haven’t had to see what battle is like for a scout! There have been hundreds, probably thousands, of scouts that have fallen on the battlefield. I’ll bet you couldn’t name me one of them that you showed a shred of kindness to! Did you ever throw a beam of that…kritskrack…whatchamacallit…to a scout on the battlefield?” the scout demanded.

The medic chuckled, “Why would I ever heal a scout? Scouts move on too quick for any one medic to handle anyways. Shooting to a scout would be a waste, when a medic needs to focus on the heavys. There are more important classes than the scouts!”

“Yea! My point exactly!” the scout spat, “And while every other class gains in medical attention and assistance from each other class, the scouts fall by the dozens, and not a single one of them is acknowledged. A scout could piss some sniper off on their own team and just for funsies a sniper could off a random scout without any consequences. And forget being called out, no other class would call a sniper out for killing an ally scout. And a scout calling anybody out on anything? Pah! He would end up with a bullet to his brain in the next battle!”

“And why should I care?” the medic growled. He gained nothing from the scout’s ranting, it was just a pathetic man wasting his breath.

“I’m a living person!” the scout proclaimed, “We all are! Each man on this base is your responsibility you know! Each man who dies, dies because you failed your job! Each man who falls isn’t just a thing that you can dispose of! And yet each scout is treated as disposable trash!”

The medic threw his head back and laughed, “And you’re nothing more than disposable trash!”

The scout scoffed, “I didn’t choose to be the scout. I didn’t choose to be this type of clone! I didn’t choose to be Skeeter! And I didn’t choose to be disposable!”

The medic was quiet for a while. He glared the scout down, while the smaller man’s eyes seemed to grow red with intense hatred. His facial expression only became more and more intense as they stared at each other. There was a hollow silence between them as they glared between themselves.

“None of us chose our positions,” the medic stated, with dark irritation, “None of us chose who we are. We just are.”

“And for nothing, it has been chosen that I should deserve the fate of one who will easily be disposed of,” the scout replied.

“Go then, trash,” the medic motioned to the doorway, “And don’t come back into my clinic!”

The scout hesitated, glaring up at him. His face was red with frustration. Every word he had spoken was painted across his face in a heated bout of anger.

The silence remained, hanging over their heads. The scout refused to say anything, or even to move. He was too angry to give the medic any grounds in this argument. He was going to try and make his way out of this with some handle on the situation.

“Well?” the medic pressed, leaning towards him, “Go!”

“You think you can scare me?” the scout grit his teeth at him, in an animalistic snarl, “You don’t scare me! I’ve stared death in the face enough times. I’ve stared down the barrel of a sniper and lived! You can’t frighten me in any situation, medic.”

The medic reached over for the latches on the examination table. It was the closest thing to a weapon he had within arm’s reach. He would not give the scout breathing space just so he could grab something to stab him with.

“You’re not even a real fighter,” the scout growled, “You don’t handle standard guns, nor any kind of weaponry. You’re just a medic, just a doctor.”

The medic chuckled as he lifted the strap. He brought it up towards the scout to slip it around his arm. It would have restrained one arm, making it easier for the medic to overwhelm the smaller man. He was already ready to grab his throat with the free hand to throw him down on the table.

The scout darted out of the way. Quicker than the medic, the scout was able to maneuver out of the way and make his way towards the wall of weapons. The medic could already guess the man’s line of thinking.

“You think collecting dead men’s weapons and stowing them away is going to make you anything other than a weak support class? Pathetic!” the scout spat.

He turned to the wall. He was looking over the weapons, getting ready to grab one of them. The medic glanced at his desk and then at the medical counter. There was an array of sharp scalpels that would make great weapons in the necessary situation. But if the scout grabbed onto a gun, he would need a better strategy. He would need some form of coverage to get to, before shards of shotgun shells or some other bullet came his way.

“You think any of these makes you a fighter?” the scout tried to sound condescending.

The medic moved slowly as he made his way towards the medical counter. If he got close enough at some point he could easily end the scout with a stab to the throat. But he needed to be quiet about his plan so he could get to the coverage.

He moved carefully, cautious not to bump into the medical table as he moved backwards. Adrenaline pounded as he planned out his moves. He would grab several scalpels, tuck them into his pocket and flip the table. The table was thick and made of steel, so it would withstand quite a few shots.

His hand was reaching for the scalpels when a gravelly voice cleared their throat, “Interrupting something?”

He turned his eyes from the cup of scalpels soaking in rubbing alcohol to the doorway. A thick muscled heavy weapon’s master was standing in the doorway, with his arms over his chest. Medic glanced at the scout to find that his hand was halfway to the standard issue sawed barrel scout shotgun. His head had turned to see the newcomer, hesitating at the arrival of an onlooker. He winced, as he turned back to look up at the shotgun he was reaching for.

“Let go of what you were planning to do,” the heavy Russian accent rolled through medic’s ears like molasses, familiar but heady, “Just let it go and leave before things get too heavy.”

The scout pulled his hand away, his fingers curling up with some strange feeling. The medic was uncertain about this feeling though. As he looked on, the scout’s expression looked so foreign to him. There was something different about it, something he was unaware of.

“Things don’t have to go down poorly,” the Russian heavy warned, “But you can leave and we can forget these things happened.”

The scout said nothing as he turned to face the heavy squarely. He dropped his hand to his side. A teary eyed scout stood in the light by the workbench, his hands balling into fists and his head dropping with an expression of utter despair. He looked like he had given up, like something had fallen in vain, but he had not yet given up.

He glared at the medic, through reddening eyes. He looked thoroughly enraged, but he was containing it behind a sheet of salty tears. He paused to run his arm across his eyes before he turned to the heavy again.

“I’m going,” he told the heavy, “I-I’ll catch you on the battlefield tomorrow.”

“Be ready for it,” the heavy stated, as he moved out of the scout’s way.

The scout marched – almost proudly – from the clinic. His footsteps carried off away from the clinic, echoing down the hallway. The heavy waited, watching the empty doorway, listening to the smaller man’s footsteps.

The medic looked to his hand again. It was still hovering close to the handles of the scalpels. He had been ready to end the scout without question, but he was not entirely certain about his plan. Had the heavy not turned up, he would have likely taken a bullet before taking down the little scout. But, the timing of the man’s arrival seemed too canny.

“Lucky I came, doctor,” the heavy stated. He grabbed a swivel stool and plopped down onto it. “That scout woulda taken you out with himself. It doesn’t seem like he has any drive to win tomorrow’s battle, other than his anger towards you, which he now has.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” the medic lied, with a sly chuckle.

He regained his wits, as he grabbed the cup of rubbing alcohol and pulled the scalpels from the thickly sickening liquid. He wiped them dry on a rag and began putting them away in the appropriate drawer.

“Don’t play dumb, I know you are smarter than that,” the heavy insisted, “Every medic may be smart, but you are particularly smart. Though, sometimes I wonder…” The way the man trailed off drew the medic’s curiosity.

“What has brought you down to my clinic at this hour, friend?” he asked. They were not scheduled for any games or anything, so there was no reason for him to be there yet.

“It troubled me,” the man said, “You have been ever more aggressive since your last battle.”

“Aggression is necessary on the battlefield,” the medic replied.

“Not for a medic, no,” the Russian man argued.

He sighed, shaking his head slowly. He seemed puzzled, yet thoughtful. His class was not considered particularly bright, but if that was true, then he was a genius by the standard of his class.

“You’re not aware of what it takes to be a medic,” he growled, “You haven’t been a support medic yourself. Try being in my jacket for one battle’s hour and you would fall fast. Trust me, my friend, aggression is necessary.”

“Not to the degree to which you have taken it,” the heavy argued, shaking his head, “You have gone too far lately. I have noticed this…from the way you handle your patients, to the way you play the game of chess.”

“I do not need to be patronized by a heavy weapon’s master!” he declared loudly. He threw up one hand with a scalpel in it.

“Your teammates need you,” the man said, his voice growing calmer. He was not affected by the medic’s outburst of frustration and anger. “Your allies are here for you. But you have to show them that you are here for them. But…it seems…you’re not actually there for them on the battlefield. If you take that shotgun onto the battlefield, you aren’t just taking a violent weapon, you are telling your teammates that you are not up to the job of support.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the medic growled.

“Very well,” the Russian shrugged, rising from the stool.

He was leaving just as quickly as he arrived. It felt strange and seemed like the shortest visit from the man he had ever had. Their visits usually held much more content than a quick talk about whatever just happened.

“Just know that there are things people see and hear. And while you may think you are gaining power by scaring your friends away,” the heavy explained in a calm voice, pausing at the doorway, “But trust me, you are going to lose a lot more if you do not change that aggression to something more productive.”

“Then leave,” the medic growled, “I don’t need you here to disturb me when I have work to do here at my workbench.”

“Very well,” the Russian shrugged, “I will leave you to your work. And I will see you in tomorrow’s battle. I will be there to defend you, friend.”

The medic sighed, turning away as the heavy left. He said nothing as he placed the last scalpel in its place within the drawer. His entire assortment was now clean and ready for an operation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so terrible about the scout abuse in this fic. It is not without reason, I swear.


	4. Go to Bed, Medic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic is up late, and that pisses the spy off for some unknown reason.

The night loomed on. The silence was a bit maddening but nothing the medic had not dealt with before. He had spent many quiet nights on his own toiling over his work. There was no reason he could not handle his work this night. It was the same as any night, just work until he could not work anymore.

But, after the events of earlier, he felt something creeping up on him. It left him a strange sensation. It was like something sneaking up on him in the dark, just waiting to grab him by the back of the neck. He was slightly afraid of it, afraid that it would shake him and leave him helpless on the floor.

As the minutes moved by and turned into hours, he felt his body grow heavy. It was a thick sensation that seemed to form a mass on his neck and shoulders. It materialized into a tenseness in his muscles and created a looming darkness in the back of his mind.

A few footsteps came from the hallway, drawing his ear and his mind away from his work. “What now?” he muttered with disdain for whomever was disturbing him.

He rose quickly from his seat at the workbench as the slender Frenchman appeared at the doorway. He took a hesitant step into the clinic. He proceeded with more caution as he removed his scarf from around his neck.

“What do you want, spy?” the medic growled with irritation, “It’s late and I don’t have time for you.”

“I came because it is late,” the spy pointed to the clock, “And you are still awake.”

“As it is, my work is not done,” the medic rubbed his eyes.

When he looked at the clock he found that it was only the second hour. They were supposed to leave in two hours. How had the time gone by without him? He was not sure how to get it back so he could rest.

“And you should be asleep,” the spy stated, “As it stands, you have but two hours, but perhaps a cat nap will do you some good.”

“What does it matter to you?” the medic growled, “You have no point in being here, so just leave. Just get out. I’m tired. I’m tired of dealing with people. I’m tired of patients coming into my clinic without any idea that I’m already dealing with enough work on my bench.”

“I’m quite tired of watching you depressingly deteriorate,” the spy said, with a tone of despair, “I’m tired myself, but it seems you still have at least a friend that has hope in you. Other than myself, you have made very few friends.”

“You? A friend?” the medic’s mind felt like it snapped.

He was dumbfounded at the mere suggestion. He rarely spoke more than two words with the spy. There were moments in passing, but there were no full conversations to establish any form of friendship or comradery.

“You’ve lost your mind,” the medic started chuckling.

“Don’t take me lightly,” the Frenchman suddenly appeared before him.

In spite of his slender form, the spy was strangely intimidating. And as he loomed ever closer, he raised a butterfly knife from a hidden pocket to the medic’s throat, just below his chin. The medic leaned backwards but otherwise stood very still. He was all too wary of the man’s close combat skills to let his guard down.

“What are you doing?” the medic asked quietly. No manner of planning would help him escape a spy’s knife.

“I’m warning you,” the spy growled, “Go to bed. Just be done with what you were doing. Go to bed. Don’t get up until the fourth hour of the morning.”

“That is foolish,” the medic responded firmly, “I have to get prepared before that time!”

“Don’t worry about it,” the spy growled.

“And if I miss the troops leaving? I have to be there and be on post!” the medic raised his voice.

“I said don’t worry about it!” the spy pressed the tip of his blade to the underneath of his jaw.

“If I’m not properly equipped and ready for leaving, then how am I supposed to fight in the battle?” the medic argued, with frustration. He would fight with every breath, in spite of the blade at his throat.

“I said…” the spy leaned in closer. He was intimately close, drawing too close for comfort. “I said to go to bed and don’t worry about it.”

The medic grumbled softly in German. He was growing more and more frustrated with the man’s insistence. He glanced over his shoulder at the opened gadget on his workbench.

“Don’t worry about it,” the spy insisted, sternly.

“I’ve got two hours to finish fixing the medigun,” the medic argued.

The spy grabbed the medic’s tie, taking a firm grasp of it. He twisted it once around his fingers, bringing his grip to the knot. He felt like the spy was jerking him by a dog collar. 

The medic took a deep breath as the spy drew closer. He was wary, more so than he had ever been. He was not so certain that this was his team’s spy anymore. He was growing suspicious that this was a spy in disguise, who thought he could outsmart the medic in some way, to get him off his guard just to put a knife in him.

“I won’t be fooled so easily,” he growled, reaching behind himself for some form of weapon. He would not do so unless he was desperate, but in the face of such a danger, he was desperate for something to fend off the man. “You’ve given yourself away, spy,” he growled.

“It’s late,” the spy glared down his nose at him, “You’ve lost your good senses with lack of sleep. That teamed with your aggressive mood lately…is not beneficial to the team. Come. I’ll lay you down.”

His attitude was almost completely changed. It was bizarre to see, directly in front of his face. As the spy pulled him by his tie, he was not sure whether he was desperate anymore, or rather curious.

“Just behave,” the spy eased the blade off of his throat, as he drew the medic towards the side door that led to the small personal room, “I’ll not hurt you…as long as you behave.”

“M-my w-work is n-not done,” he stammered. He was amazed at himself. He was not sure what he was stumbling over his words for, he was not having a trouble with speaking English.

“Just lie down and get comfortable for an hour or so,” the spy spoke calmly, as he led the medic to his bed. He nudged him towards the bed, his knife moving slowly away from his throat.

“W-why are you doing this?” the medic paused to clear his throat, as the hand loosened on his tie enough for him to sit down.

“You’ll die on the battlefield if you don’t get some sleep,” the spy closed his knife and put it away. He paused to release the medic’s tie. “Get some rest. I’ll see to your weapons. If I find you out of this room…or out of your bed…I’ll return,” with a swift motion he returned the knife to its intimidating pose, the tip touching the medic’s chin.

“U-understood,” the medic looked down at the spy’s hand, warily.

“Stay here,” the spy quickly returned the dagger to its place in his sleeve, before he left the room.

The medic was left to the quiet room. He felt stunned at the predicament. The spy had led him into his bedroom to sleep, completely out of character and appearing without reason.

He loosened the tie around his neck and looked up at the ceiling. He began to wonder what was going on and why the spy would pay so much attention to him. He had never paid much attention to him before, let alone given him so much interest.

“Could this be a problem?” he asked himself, softly.

He felt so stunned that he could not answer the question for himself. He could not even close his eyes, as the quandary drove into his mind. He could not decide just why the spy would be paying so much attention to him and give so much interest to him.

“Can’t sit around and wait to find out!” he leaped from the bed and threw open the door.

He found the clinic dark and quiet. All of the lights had been turned off, even the extra lamp at the work bench. The spy had gone about darkening the entire work space.

“Why would he spend all that time on these?” he asked softly.

He reached for the easiest light, pulling the cord to give the room a smidgen of light. It flickered for a moment before it brightened. He was thankful that it stopped flickering as he looked around the room.

“Well, I’m glad I got back when I did,” the spy interrupted his thoughts.

The words crawled up his spine with an alarming feeling. He spun to face the spy, as he stepped into the room. He was holstering a pistol beneath his jacket.

“A-already? Y-you’re back?” the medic quickly searched for the first weapon.

He did not have time to move before the spy was once again upon him. This time, one hand had him by the left side of his waist coat and the other lifted him off his feet by his britches. He was too surprised to notice just how the spy carried him to the examination table.

“W-what are you doing?!” the medic exclaimed, as he felt the cold metal beneath him.

“Putting you someplace you won’t cause trouble,” the spy said sternly.

The medic knew exactly what was on the table and would not be brought down so easily. Panic raised his adrenaline and he used it to throw his hands at the spy, pushing the man away. He leaped from the table and bounded towards the wall of weapons.

“No no!” the spy leaped after him, grabbing the back of his waist coat just short of the wall.

“Release me!” the medic tried to kick him, but he did not connect.

“I gave you something very simple to do!” the spy insisted, “And you cannot even do that!”

“You’re not tying me down!” the medic proclaimed.

“Well, you’re going to get some rest, one way or another,” the spy insisted, pinning him to the cold floor.

The medic twitched, his nose wincing. His cheek was pressed up against the unsanitary ground. It was disgustingly repulsive. Just the thought of it made him want to hurl.

“If you could just handle a simple order, this would not be a problem,” the spy said, in a calm voice, “You’ll be better equipped in the morning, after you have had sleep.”

“I won’t be equipped with anything if my medigun is dysfunctional!” the medic exclaimed.

“You don’t need to worry about it now,” the spy insisted, “Alright? Just trust me. I’m your ally here. Just go to sleep and leave it be until morning.”

“I have but two hours!” the medic proclaimed, wriggling with frustration beneath the spy. He was unable to escape though, as the smaller frame managed to lock him to the ground effortlessly.

“And that’ll be two hours and you will spend getting some rest, friend,” the spy insisted.

“Fine,” the medic stopped, lying still on the floor.

For a while, the spy was silent. He did not move, let alone release his arms. He seemed to be thinking, or making the medic wait for him, just for some sociopathic reason.

“Are you ready to cooperate?” the spy asked.

“Yes,” the medic said, with a disgruntled tone, “I’m going to cooperate.”

“Good,” the spy rose to his feet, letting off the medic’s back and arms.

He hesitated, moving ever slowly. He did not want the spy to change his mind suddenly. Nor did he want him to get any ideas about what the medic was going to do. So far, he did not really have a plan to get out of this, he just needed to get up off of the filthy floor.

Once he was on his feet, he paused to wipe his face off. He was rubbing his face on his sleeves. He normally would not do this, but he felt so disgusting, with a lingering memory of the cold concrete floor against his face.

“Need a moment to clean yourself up?” the spy motioned to the sink on the medical counter.

The medic lit up with excitement, both for the chance to clean up and the chance to get close to his tools. He immediately started towards the counter. He did not even respond to the spy, he just went for it. His mind wrapped around several ideas of what he could do, glancing over the tools that were within reach of his hands by the sink.

“Well too bad!” the spy exclaimed, grabbing the medic’s tie and yanking him around.

“Hey wait! Stop!” the medic exclaimed, as he was dragged into the bedroom.

“You’ll go to sleep, now,” the spy pushed him onto the bed and slammed the door shut.

The medic’s face grew hot as the spy turned to him. He folded his arms over his chest, as he looked down at the medic.

“The point is that you lay down and close your eyes,” the spy insisted.

“R-right,” the medic cleared his throat as he shifted his tie again. He would not undress or change in front of the spy, so he simply laid down on the bed as he was.

The light turned off, but the door never opened. He closed his eyes, but he was listening for the spy’s leave. He was waiting.

“Are you just going to be standing there?” the medic growled.

“Yes,” the spy replied, in a stand-offish tone of voice.

“Really,” the medic sighed, closing his eyes.

He was not sure what else to make of it. His plans were shot. There would be no escape with the spy standing at the door. Even when he tried waiting for the spy to stop paying attention or doze off, nothing gave him the space to escape.

“You really don’t make this easy,” the spy leaned back against the door.

The medic could hear the man’s clothes whispering as he shifted, “You don’t exactly give off the aura of restfulness and trustworthiness.” Even so, sleep came easy to weary eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calm down fangirls. These characters aren't going to be that easy to ship.


	5. Off to Battle with Medic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The medic wakes up, with barely enough time to get to battle.

The medic flinched as he woke. He had been somewhere between a door, drowning and a knife to his throat. Or at least, he thought he was…

He shook himself free of the dream, “What a crazy nightmare.”

He took a deep breath, relieved to be awake and not facing a blood thirsty scout. He almost touched his throat, just for memory’s sake. He refrained, looking around for the spy.

He was a bit stunned that the spy was nowhere to be found. He had thought the man was going to remain by his door like a posted guardsman. He quickly shook the spy from his head as he gathered his wits.

He did not know the time and as he glanced at the clock, a feeling of dread hit him. It was five minutes until leaving time. The fourth hour was upon him and nothing was ready for him to leave with the others.

“Oh for the love of-” he leaped from the bed and sped into the clinic. He was surprised to find a note on his medigun.

He snatched up the note to glance over it. It was signed by an engineer, whose words explained that he had repaired the trigger and reset all of the settings to default for reparation reasons. There was a brief plea that the medic give the engineers a bit of attention during the battle, before the signature of engineer number three.

“Like I would bother,” he crumpled the paper and snatched up the medigun.

He quickly holstered the medigun on his back, so he could grab the rest of his things. He holstered a shotgun and snatched up a pistol. He quickly began filling pockets with ammunition, hoping that it would be enough to get him through the day. He was not sure how long he would be there, but he would no doubt face an enemy scout or two. He only hoped that he could avoid the enemy spies this time, who enjoyed sneaking up on medical professionals when they were not looking.

He trotted to the medical counter and opened a cabinet with a mirror inside. He paused to tighten his tie and rinse his face with cold water. He felt so weary and weighted down, but he could not let it get to him today.

“It’s time for the battle,” he told himself, as he packed some syringes for the medical kit.

He double checked the first aid box before he attached it to his belt. When he was certain that he had all of his tools, he rushed from the clinic.

“I hope I’m not too late,” he muttered as he ran, “I don’t want to be docked for disobedient behavior.”

He shuddered to think what would happen if he was left behind. Just oversleeping was enough to get a clone dispatched to less likable terrain. The higher ups were not as understanding as those who had to be in battle all the time. They would reprimand him in whatever way they could, and he did not want to find out how they would punish a tardy doctor.

“Hey doc!” an engineer called out, as he tossed a box into the back of a truck, “Just in time!”

“You’re late,” another engineer added.

“Ya. Don’t remind me,” the medic hefted his medigun.

“What took ya?” a sniper poked his head out of the back of the truck.

“Shut up,” the medic barked.

“Let’s go, we’re the last vehicle,” an engineer tossed the last of their boxes into the back of the truck.

“Let’s move out!” an engineer called from the driver’s seat.

“Alright! Let’s go then!” a scout called from the passenger’s seat.

“Up and at ‘em,” an engineer motioned for the medic to climb up into the back.

“Alright alright,” the medic hurried onto the truck, stepping around the boxes of contraptions to find a seat. There were eight scouts, a sniper and four engineers in the back here with him.

“Glad you could make it,” the sniper had a weird smirk on his face.

“Surprised you did,” a scout laughed, “Started to think you were going to ditch.”

“Of course not,” the medic’s fingers fidgeted as he settled back on his heels, “The spy sabotaged me.”

“The spy?” the sniper sounded surprised, “I have a hard time believing that.”

“Spies…double crossing, two timing creeps,” one of the scouts said, dismissively, “I wouldn’t put it past the Frenchies to do something so randomly fucked up.”

“Not like we need the medic on the battlefield,” another scout stated. This one had a disgusted look about him, glaring over at the medic with disdain.

The medic hesitated, noting the look. He quickly gathered that this was the same scout as before, scout thirty-one. He was eyeing the medic, and given that he was in the same vehicle, he might be able to follow the medic’s movements to off him with friendly fire. He would have to watch out for this scout.

“Our spy isn’t that pretentious, or sadistic,” the sniper argued, “I don’t think he would sabotage the medic.”

“You say that, but he sabotaged my work last night,” the medic growled, “And is the reason I’m so late to this…pleasant little party.”

He glared at the scout with disgust. He was ready for the fight, he would just wait for the scout to bring the battle to him. He would take up the challenge and take down the scout.

“I’m sure he didn’t sabotage you,” the sniper insisted, “What did he do anyways?”

“Sabotaged my work on the medigun,” the medic replied.

“You’re…wearing it now…so it’s not broken then, is it?” the sniper asked, eyeing the medical equipment.

“Er…” the medic paused to look down at his equipment.

“I took extra care of your gun, doc,” an engineer interrupted.

His head spun to look at the engineer with confusion. He was smiling at the medic, kindly. He seemed a bit proud of himself too, as he noted the medic’s medigun at his side.

“Spy told me you were over-working yourself with fixing your equipment,” the engineer explained, “You could just bring it to us engineers. We can repair your gadgets.”

“Uh…er…” the medic felt stunned by the man’s kindly behavior. He was out of place with the people he was used to.

The sniper chuckled, “As I thought. Musta overslept then, I presume? Tired from all that work, doc?”

The medic shot the sniper a nasty glare. He was not about to explain himself and his motives for anger at the spy. He did not even know how to respond to the engineer, let alone handle the sniper’s responses.

“We’re here for support, doc,” another engineer added.

“Yeh yeh,” the disgruntled scout grumbled, “Support class and whatever.”

The medic switched to German, “See? The scout knows how to act.”

“What’s that?” the sniper asked. None of them knew German.

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted.

“Yea…” the angered scout cocked his shotgun, glaring at the medic from the corner of his eye, “Don’t worry about it.”

The truck fell silent. The medic felt the others probably did not know what the scout was talking about. They all seemed so naïve, so kindly. They did not seem to understand that the scout had some form of beef with the medical professional.

The sniper leaned back in his seat to focus on cleaning up the barrel of his gun. It seemed to be more of an affection for his weapon rather than to actually clean it up. He was preoccupied with it fully.

The engineers on the other hand were fairly quiet. They did not talk amongst themselves, sitting in silence amidst the scouts. The only exception was one, who started tapping his foot and humming softly under his breath. Despite the softness of his voice, the silence carried his hum over the thrum of the truck.

The scouts sometimes said things to each other. It was usually things meant to be funny to the scout class. They would make gestures and make silly jokes, to which they responded with giggles. If the medic did not know any better, he would have thought they were unaware of the impending battle.

The truck screeched to a halt suddenly. It seemed unlikely that it had reached the destination yet though. It had not gone so far as the base.

“What’s going on?” the sniper knocked on the door to the cab.

The door’s window slid open and the scout peered out the back, “We’re having car troubles.”

“We can’t get stranded out here!” an engineer barked.

“We’ll get ambushed,” another barked.

“Alright, scouts,” the sniper clambered out of the back of the truck, “Form a border around the truck. Scout out the area for any signs of the enemy. We can’t afford to get ambushed out here.”

“Got it,” one of the scouts said, as he led a herd of scouts out the back. They darted off to form a wide circle around the truck.

The medic followed the sniper, while the engineers piled out. Several engineers headed for the hood of the truck, while the others began setting up sentries. They formed a border closer to the truck, so that if any enemies appear they would be taken down by the automated sentries.

The medic stayed next to the sniper, unsure of where else to be. There was nothing he could do for the vehicle. He was close enough to the back that if somebody came along to shoot at them he could leap into the vehicle for cover.

“I’ll have this truck fixed in a jiffy!” one of the engineers called from the hood.

“Just hurry up! I want to get out of here!” the sniper called.

The sniper driver came around the truck to join them on their side. He leaned against the truck, hefting a large rifle in both hands. He motioned to the other sniper, pointing up a desert dune.

“Nah,” the other sniper shook his head, “Let’s keep it quiet.”

“Bummer,” the driver snapped his fingers with disappointment.

“Let’s keep our eyes on those dunes though,” the other sniper added, “I’m going around to the other side to scope. Stick to the medic.”

“Got it,” the driver nodded.

The other sniper headed around to the other side of the truck to scope out the rest of the terrain. The medic watched him go, before turning to the driver.

“What?” he questioned.

“Don’t worry about it,” the sniper lifted his rifle to utilize the scope.

There was a long silence, as they waited. They were just waiting for something to happen. Even the wind upon the heated sands seemed to be silent. It almost drove him crazy.

“Alright! Load up the gear!” an engineer called from the hood, as it slammed shut.  
The others quickly gathered up the sentries, loading them into the truck. The driver sniper whistled for the scouts, rounding them up. As the scouts ran to the truck, they spared no time in leaping directly into the back of the truck.

The medic looked around, watching as they moved in near unison. They all seemed to be used to working together. It was a strange scenario. He was usually in one of the first trucks, with a much different array of faces, including the heavy class.

“Alright let’s go,” the sniper climbed into the back, and paused to offer him a hand.

The medic sighed in relief as he sat down in the truck. He flinched when he realized that he had sat down next to a scout. The scout threw him a nasty glare.

The medic cleared his throat, turning his attention away from the scout. He tried to ignore him for the most part. He did not want to instigate anything. He doubted the angry runt would start anything in the truck in front of others, but he would not put it past the guy to create some form of trouble if spurred on.

The rest of the ride was silent. Even the engineers and scouts were silent. The sniper seemed less focused on his gun though. He was eyeing each person. He seemed to be measuring each man for his worth and his weight.

When the vehicle finally came to a stop, they all quickly unloaded. The engineers gathered up their gear and headed out to set up their sentries. The medic slowly clambered out, looking around the desolate area. There were several other vehicles already parked here and unloaded.

“Let’s get to the front,” the sniper motioned for the medic to follow him, as he loaded his gun.

A sudden blast hit the front of the truck, flinging it backwards. The heat burned through his white coat, searing his skin. He shouted with pain as he scrambled away from the blast. He could not see through the bright flash of light, but he kept his feet moving.

“Medic!” the Australian accent cut through the loud blast.

“Yea?” he called out, his eyes searching for anything.

“Man down! Man down!” a scout called out.

“Got you right here!” another scout responded.

“Medic!” the Aussie called through the reverberating noise.

“Yea? Right here!” the medic called out, his vision slowly clearing.

“There you are!” a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him down by a tire.

“What? What is happening?” he shouted, as his ears started to ring. He was not prone to tinnitus as of late, but no amount of ear protection could protect him from developing it sooner or later. “Oh great,” he muttered to himself.

“Stay low,” the sniper ordered.

“Yea,” the medic paused, checking his ears for blood. He was not sure how close he was to the blast, so he was not sure how much damage he must have taken.

He grabbed his medigun, pulling it into both hands for use. He raised the nozzle to his chin, pressing it up against his throat before pulling the trigger. The resulting blast made him dizzy and taste all of the colors of the rainbows. Still, it healed his head and helped him to gain his focus.

“Perfect,” he muttered as he shifted the medigun.

“Medic, the scouts are taking heavy damage from a machine gun,” the sniper nudged him, “I can’t get a shot!”

“Alright alright,” the medic muttered. He raised his head to look just over the hood of the truck.

There was a large vehicle moving slowly towards them. On the other side, a heavy weapon’s master was mowing down the scouts like rabbits in a cage, no matter how fast or far they got away.

“Fuck,” the medic raised his medigun and searched for a target.

He would not normally aim for a scout, but there was not much else to aim for, and if the scouts’ numbers disappeared, then they would be overwhelmed by the enemy. He could not risk that, so he aimed for the best equipped looking scout with a set of injuries already painting his body with blood.

The scout was not aware of the healing process at first. Then the dizziness kicked in as he was unused to the effects of molecular regeneration. He stumbled backwards, regaining his focus. He looked around to find the medic, aiming his medigun over the hood of the truck. He turned his head back to the heavy, and aimed his shotgun.

“Prepare to die, fatass!” the scout roared in laughter as he darted towards the machine gun.

“It’s not a wonder I don’t heal scouts,” the medic muttered as he watched his patient rush into the thrall, “They are suicidal morons!”

He shifted the barrel and aimed at another scout. The scout was badly wounded and falling to the ground. But as an enemy scout leaped at him, he regained his boldness. Still bleeding from several shots to his torso, the scout was not thrown forward by a healed wound, but by a sensation that brought him courage.

“Crazy,” the medic shook his head, “A crazy class that should not be wasted upon.”

“Medic!” the sniper pulled him down and redirected his attention to a nearby engineer, “Help the engineer move that gear up.”

“What?” he exclaimed.

“Go! Help that engineer move up,” the sniper pointed, “I’m gonna try to get a shot on that heavy.”

“You just told me to help the scouts!” the medic barked.

“I know what I said! But it’s time to move,” the sniper pointed, “Now move!”

“Alright!” the medic leaped to his feet and darted towards the engineer. He felt the heat of bullets aimed towards his back as he ran for the engineer. “Quickly! Move the gear up!” the medic shouted over the barrage of gun fire.

“What?” the confused engineer quickly repaired a piece on his guns.

“Move this gear up!” he shouted over the firing.

“Alright!” the engineer began packing everything, putting it into an enclosed box.

“Hurry hurry!” the medic pressed loudly.

“Help me,” the engineer tossed him one of the heavy metal boxes.

The medic hefted the box, taking it by the handle. He quickly holstered the medigun, before it could take more damage from metal banging against it.

“Now let’s move out!” the engineer roared over the noise.

The medic followed as the engineer charged past the vehicles. Several of the vehicles had been blasted to pieces, leaving chunks of salvage metal and burnt sand. They headed beyond this area, leaving the enemy heavy and scouts behind.

The medic glanced over his shoulder, wondering about the men he was leaving behind. The scouts would surely perish, but there were a few engineers and the two snipers who might be able to escape. He was following this engineer though, as they made a mad dash towards the enemy’s base.

There was a long way to go though. As he looked on, he realized that the parking area was intended to be distant from the enemy base, making it easier to catch them off guard, to some extent. Still, it seemed that their colleagues’ arrival had tipped off the enemy enough for them to come to the parking zone.

“Don’t look back! Just keep moving!” the engineer called to him.

He said nothing as he chased after the engineer. His heart was starting to pound hard in his chest as he lost his breath. He had not made such a run in so long. He felt like his heart might fail from the stress alone.

“Here we are!” they came to a building on the outcroppings. There was chain-link fence lying around amidst pieces of junk that had not been picked up from battles past.

“Where is here?” the medic cried out.

The engineer threw open a door and darted inside. The medic hurried after him, following the man up a long set of stairs towards the top of what seemed like a tower. He was heatedly panting when he finally reached the top, unable to carry the heavy load. He dropped the box on the floor and let the gravity take him to his knees, while he gasped for air.

“Need to work on your stamina,” the engineer took the box, carrying it to a window that was intended to be a sniper perch.

When the medic raised his head to bark at him, he was cut off by the sight of a dead enemy sniper. The man laid in a bloody heap next to his rifle. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

This was not his first time to battle. This was not the first dead sniper he had ever encountered. This was not something he was unaccustomed to. It had just been a while since the last time he had joined the front, instead of remaining behind.

“Why was I even brought here?” he asked aloud.

“Beggin’ your pardon?” the engineer interrupted his thoughts.

The medic shook his head, “Nothing.”

The engineer shrugged, before he returned to his work. He was loud with his tools as he set up the sentry, bringing its legs to a height that could reach out the window.

“You should probably go find out where the others are. They’ll want to know that we have their escape covered,” the engineer told him.

“Right,” the medic groaned as he darted for the stairs.

He made his way out of the tower and for the main base. His colleagues would be there, waiting for his assistance. He could only imagine how they were fairing so far. He was not surprised that the first enemy he encountered was a scout. He came almost out of nowhere, leaping around with a baseball bat in hand. He leaped so high though, bounding around with more agility than any scout on the medic’s own team.

“What is this?” the medic growled with disdain, as he drew his shotgun.

“What? You’re gonna hit me with that thing? Bet you can’t aim, Nazi prick!” the scout laughed, gleefully.

“Come here!” the medic called out, patiently aiming the scout class standard shotgun, “I promise this will only hurt for a little while!”

“Come and-” the scout’s taunt was cut off as the medic let off a shot that scattered too wide for even the scout to escape. He had not even recognized the standard weapon, designed for scouts to kill other scouts.

The medic hesitated as the scout fell with a scream. He had to laugh at the very idea that the scout could have escaped from a sort of birdshot. Being a flighty class, the scout was almost bird-like, but would never escape his own bullets.

“It seems that you have been out classed,” the medic laughed.

He decided to move on, reloading his shotgun and heading into the nearest building. He slowed his feet though, not wanting to alarm an enemy to his presence. Just his footsteps alone could give him away to a wary pyromaniac or a sneaky spy. The others would probably be too loud to hear him otherwise.

He peered around the first corner, searching for enemies and allies. There was nobody in a large room. It was completely empty, save for some foldable tables and chairs. Most of them had been thrown around, as if in battle, but without any signs of scorching or gunshots.

“Somebody must be hiding nearby,” he muttered to himself.

He readied his weapon as he kept to the wall. He did not want somebody sneaking up behind him, so he faced the room with his back pressed to the wood. He would die by his own terms, not by being snuck up on.

He came to a door and paused. He listened carefully for voices or any form of noise. When he heard nothing, he grabbed the knob and turned it slowly. He listened for a reaction, but when he still heard nothing he pushed the door open. He stayed out of the way though, keeping his back to the wall, lest somebody was waiting to open fire on him.

He listened intently, hoping that nobody would be there. He peered around the doorframe, cautious of any possible gunshots. When nothing came his way, he peered around further. Nobody made a sound. There seemed to be nothing to fear here.

He entered the room slowly. He was careful about his steps and about listening for the enemy. He stopped mid step as the clink of a glass bottle caught his ear. It was broken glass, and seemed to have been crunched beneath a boot.

He growled, reaching with one hand to his pocket for a knife. If somebody was ready to get close, the shotgun might not be effective against them. In that case, he would need a close combat weapon to fend off his attacker.

He turned just in time to see a demoman charge at him. He flinched, trying to bring the shotgun to the man’s face. He missed, the blast of the shotgun going up away from the man, as he threw the barrel up. He was not afraid of a shotgun, as he hefted around his loaded explosives medigun.

“Come here!” the medic leaped forward, as the demoman brought the medigun towards his chest. He brought the knife up just in time to surprise him with a slice to the neck.

The man fell, too weak and surprised to actually pull the trigger. The medic wasted no time as he darted off to the next room. He did not want to be caught in fire, if the demoman decided to blast the room to bits, taking him down to his death.

He came across a couple of scouts trying to fend off an ally soldier. “Soldier!” he barked, as he sent shots at the scouts. He immediately regretted shouting, as one of the scouts escaped before he could shoot the second.

“Take ‘em down medic!” the soldier quickly reloaded his gun to take fire at the other scout quickly.


	6. Spy’s Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy gets in and gets what they need.

Spy checked his invis watch warily. He was drawing close to his target, but he was wary that the guard around this thing was going to be thicker than the rest of the battle. He would likely be facing more sentries and soldiers. He was not sure what else they had placed here though.

He pulled out his disguise kit, flipping through the identities available. He would need clearance of the highest level, so he decided to go as one of the more _intelligent_ classes. He would go as an enemy spy, until he reached a point where a medic would be posted.

He switched to disguise as a spy he recently killed, before he proceeded. He barely skirted the thoughts about the medics, as it brought his mind back to his team’s medic. The last he had seen him was but ten minutes before four am, when he rushed off to catch the trucks.

He smirked, glad to have left the medic sleeping. He had thought about waking him up so he would have ten minutes to get ready. But after some personal debating, he had finally decided upon leaving the medic to oversleep, so he would not even come to the fight. Better he deal with the small punishments they would dole out to their only medic for missing the trucks, than he died on the battlefield.

“It’s better this way,” he muttered to himself, “Can’t have him running into trouble. He hasn’t been within practice anyways. So…”

He let his words taper off as he drew close to the other enemies. He refocused his mind on the task at hand. He needed his mind empty and his emotions in check.

He was relaxed though. He did not need to panic, as both man and machine – referring to the automated sentries – recognized him as an ally and not a foe. They were not even expecting the enemy spy to come within their ranks.

“Spy!” a demoman shouted.

He lifted his head in response, but did not immediately say anything. There were four other spies who quickly responded verbally. Given the quiet behavior of the spy he had chosen for his disguise, he kept his mouth shut.

“Scout out the area before we have an enemy sneak in on us!” the demoman commanded.

He paused to ponder the chosen spy disguise. He would need somebody with higher authority. It seemed that a demoman could boss around the spies here without a problem. He would need somebody above the demoman to get past this ring of guards.

“Spy number twenty-two,” one of the spies turned to him, “Go tell medic fifty-three that we’re ready.”

“Yes, s-sir,” the spy hesitated, before he headed off past them. All of his pondering was for naught as he was given an easy and quiet way into the deeper areas.

Unlike his colleagues, the enemy prioritized their scientist classes. Even with how many scientists there were, the medics and engineers were prioritized above all others to be safe guarded. Even with the vast number of intelligent clones they received, these were considered to be important classes. It was more suited, as most of the medics already had near ten years of experience. That was the best option, in Spy’s opinion.

These medics were all well-equipped, and when he came within earshot of them, he could tell that they were also very well read. They were already discussing something of importance that was only known of within recent scientific research. His own team had not equipped their medic well to read up on recent research and information. He might as well be an outdated old man, compared to these scientists, though he was no older.

He dodged an imaginary shot, as the medics laughed tauntingly. One of the medics was pointing at him, with a sort of finger gun. They all thought it was rather funny that the spy’s instincts had jolted him.

“Relax spy! We’re just jesting!” one of the medics chuckled.

Most of the others, who had been still discussing some recent studies, turned their attention to the spy. He felt a little overwhelmed. His heart raced wildly for a minute, as he tried to regain his focus. It was hard to keep his focus, when all of the same face was focusing on him, all of the medic.

He had to keep his focus, but for some reason his mind was brought back to his own medic. The aggressive and isolated man had the same face and the same voice. They were not much different from him, other than the laugh. They were not cackling the way the medic did, but it somehow still warmed him, as he imagined his own medic laughing with cheer.

The feeling gripped him for a long time. He felt at a loss for words as he thought of the chance to make the medic smile with genuine cheer. If he could change the man’s aggression and anger into cheer and happiness, it made him feel overwhelmed with warmth.

He shook the thoughts from his mind as he focused on the mission at hand. He had to get past these medics and grab the target. The best course of action would be to take on of their places, so he could easily walk through this area of the base.

“Medic fifty-three, they are ready for you!” he barked.

The medic responded in German, “Got it!”

He glanced over the crowd of medics briefly. He did not know them immediately by number, but he needed to pick one that was already there. He assumed they were all there, but the chance that a medic was off in battle already could make things complicated. He could not simply pick a random number. Yet, he did.

“Medic number forty-seven?” he called out.

The medics were quiet for a while, before they gave him an odd look, “He’s posted at the engineer post, out by the pond.”

“R-right,” he nodded, “I was just making sure.” He decided to throw in more stutters, as was known to the man he was disguised as. “Alright. I-is medic thirty f-five here?”

“He’s already posted to the snipers on the upper floor,” another medic said. He turned to look to another medic, as they grew confused and almost cross with the stammering spy.

“A-and medic thir-thirty three?” he went on.

“Also upstairs, are you going to check off every medic?” one of the medics growled. He gave the spy a familiar snarl, as he glared at him. It was too familiar to the spy for him to be disturbed by it.

The spy bought himself a moment by clearing his throat. He was flailing blindly in this list of medics. He was not even sure how many of them were already deployed. Having already named off several of them already, he was looking more stupid than anything. Sooner or later, one of them would call him out.

“You’re spy number twenty-two aren’t you?” the head medic snickered, “Figures. They send the stammering idiot to try and do my job for me. I don’t need any spy coming in here trying to run the medical class.”

“Perhaps we-we can discuss th-this in an aside room?” the spy asked.

“An aside room?” the medic glanced at the side door.

“Y-yes,” he cleared his throat again, “W-we need to discuss something. An a-aside matter.”

“What would the twenty second spy know about an aside matter?” the medic growled, irritably.

“More than you might think,” the spy said, a tone of warning creeping up on himself.

The medic glanced at the others, before he turned to the spy, “Alright, let’s discuss this in here.” He motioned to the room, as he made his way to the door.

The spy followed without hesitation. The medic closed the door carefully behind him. He paused only to turn the little lock on the knob, which surprised the spy. He started towards the medic, but the medic took him by surprise, grabbing him by the neck.

The spy let out a yelp as the medic threw him back to hit his lower back on a table. He almost let out another yell, before the medic grabbed his throat, so he could not speak. He inwardly relaxed, trying to be as nonchalant as possible The usual reaction to an attack was already over.

“Listen here, you little spy prick,” the medic growled, “You’re going to walk out there and be quiet. Nod. Walk away. Don’t give me lip again, you little fucker!”

He seemed slightly off. He had the same enraged eyes as the medic he knew, but somehow different. His eyes had that same red glare in them. But, there was something different about the way he was angry and the way he spoke. He was still a medic, with that same German accent, but it was somehow different.

He had anger and violence in it, but it was not directed anywhere. He did not really know what he was doing. He was just grabbing what he could to threaten and shake the spy. He did not have the calculated preciseness of the medic that he knew, the man who would throw large fits at his patients and scare the entire base away from the clinic.

This man was no fighter. He was not a violent man craving control at every turn. He was not the vicious monster that scared his teammates in the most unique way. He was just an angry medic with a little knowledge of human anatomy.

When the man let off, the spy went for his own tie, straightening it. He cleared his throat, gathering his wits easily. He was used to being attacked by people and being choked out.

“You walk out there and be quiet,” the medic growled, as he turned his back to the spy.

He was about to unlock the door, when the spy drew his butterfly knife. He threw an arm around the medic’s neck and pulled him away from the door. He snickered at the medic, as his balance was thrown backwards into the spy.

“Stupid medics here are too pampered for fighting,” he growled as he brought the butterfly knife to the artery in the medic’s neck.

“Y-you-?!” the medic was stunned by the attack.

The spy let him drop as he bled out. He pulled out the disguise book and pulled up the thumb print identifier. He grabbed the medic’s hand and pressed it to the book, hoping that some form of variation in it might help the book pull up this medic’s disguise easier.

“Spy!” the medic choked.

“Yep,” the spy snickered as his enemy spy disguise let off. He did not care if the man tried to call out, he was already starting to choke on his own blood.

The medic reached over to grab his ankle, but the spy kicked his hand. He pulled up medic number one’s disguise, taking the head man’s lead. He chuckled as he realized that he should have realized that he had just taken down the oldest of their medics.

He paused to search the dying man’s waist coat for any items the medics might know he would have. He tucked a pocket watch and a pen into his disguise.

“I’ll be doing the talking,” the spy cleared his throat as he checked his voice for the German disguise.

He turned to the door and hesitated. He would have to put on the medic’s dumb face. It was not that the medic class was dumb, but that this medic was by far inferior to the medic on his own team.

He stepped out of the door and quickly shut it behind himself. He paused to adjust his tie as he thought up an excuse for supposedly leaving behind the spy.

“Spy?” one of the medics asked.

“Crying,” the spy chuckled, as he made his way through the crowd, “Now, that that’s out of the way. I have some business to attend to.”

“We still haven’t accounted for the new medication prototypes,” one of the medics argued.

“We will tend to that later,” the spy argued.

“You said you wanted to get it done,” another pressed.

“The spy brought up some pressing matter,” the medic responded, “I need to deal with it for now. Be on guard for enemies. The battle is coming our way.”

“I thought you said it was nothing more than a spat that will be cleaned up by noon,” another medic said.

The spy was growing more and more frustrated with these men. They all followed medic number one, with no question and no hesitation. They were obedient dogs, following their metaphorical leashes. None of them would disobey their higher ups. Spy imagined there were other classes kind of like this, maybe the Soldiers. Scouts were definitely not like this, disrespecting each other as much as they could. But these medics did not think for themselves and it likely harmed their functionality, and it made them useless mindless creatures to the spy.

He turned quickly, giving them all a glaring look of bloodthirst, “Things have changed. The war is upon our doorstep. Now ready yourselves, for a soldier might off you.”

They exchanged frightened looks. They had been glad, they were the lucky ones. They had not been posted anywhere near the fighting. Even those times were far from the close combat fighting, but still they were afraid of it. Now they were being told that somebody might come to kill them.

“Let no one inside!” the medic growled, “And leave that spy in there.”

“Why leave the spy?” one of them asked.

“If an enemy comes our way…we might need that spy to pick himself up and fight,” he lied.

He turned and quickly moved on. He left behind a hum of talk as the medics started discussing what was going on. They were disturbed by the news, and frightened like a flock of caged birds.

He made his way down the hallway to a study room where the prototype was waiting for him. His mind went back to the medic sleeping safely in bed. He might well have woken up by now, as it was already the seventh hour. He was probably furious and would come at the spy with all of his might and frustration.

He would take a beating like a man. This time he had bothered the medic as himself, not in disguise. He otherwise stayed afar from him, not able to bring himself to admit what he wanted to say and do. But, he would enjoy that beating and every minute think about how safe the medic was from what he had done to earn that beating.

He came to a stop at the wooden door, wary of who might be sitting inside. He leaned close, listening carefully for any signs of life. He did not need a stethoscope to hear the heavy breathing of several men inside.

He cleared his throat, before he slowly opened the door. Two soldiers and a demoman greeted him with guns pointed at him. They glared, gritting their teeth with disdain.

“Medic! You are supposed to be in the next room!” one of the soldiers barked.

“There is a problem,” the spy cleared his throat, as his voice was starting to crack, “We need reinforcements, before they slaughter the medics.”

“What?” the other soldier exclaimed.

“Poppycock!” the demoman exclaimed, “You’re full of shit!”

“Go look for yourself,” the spy threw a thumb over his shoulder, “They’re almost to our level.”

“You’re too calm,” the first soldier noted.

“War’s a place full of death,” the spy shrugged, “We’re all going to die, go make sure it’s not today.”

The demoman growled and pointed to the soldiers, “Go check!”

“Roger that!” the soldiers moved in unison as they darted from the room.

The demoman turned to the spy, glaring with a nasty snarl. He looked ready to tear him open with his teeth. The spy would need to get him off guard though. There was no telling how much ammunition he had, and demomen were well known to have explosives encased in their entire uniform.

“Let’s talk about this like gentlemen,” the spy moved cautiously towards the demoman.

The demoman flinched, startled by the movement, but he did not shoot. He did not make any move to harm the spy. He was not about to kill their oldest medic. He would likely get hung for that crime alone, given how high the medic class was prioritized.

“You just keep yourself over there until the soldiers get back,” the demoman spat.

“No, we need to talk,” the spy continued towards him.

The demoman carefully lowered his weapon. It was the perfect moment. Before the demoman could open his mouth and speak, the spy leaped at him, pulling out his butterfly knife to stab him in the throat. The demoman yelled, but it was drowned out by blood that slid down his throat.

“Goodnight,” the spy put the knife away as he pulled out his disguise book. He quickly switched to the demoman, easily identifying the man by his unique hat and uniform stitching.

He stepped around the desk and reached underneath to grab the box. It was a heavy article, but he was glad that it was equipped with handles. It would be a bit much for him to carry all the way out to the rendezvous point by himself.

He pulled the communication device from his pocket, pausing to wipe blood off of the earpiece. He tucked it into his ear, “Some assistance please!”

“We’re busy!” an engineer called over the communicator.

“We’re cleaning up the path,” a sniper responded.

“Get out here! We need back up!” another sniper shouted.

“I still can’t find him!” another sniper shouted, panicked over the roaring of blasts.

“I require assistance!” the spy barked at them.

“No time!” the panicked sniper shouted over the communication device, “I can’t find him.”

“Check with the heavy out back!” the engineer shouted.

“Not there! He’s nowhere!” the panicked sniper shouted.

“Would you all shut up and listen to me!” the spy shouted angrily, “I require ass-”

He sighed with irritation at himself. He was yelling at them in a Turkish-Scottish accent of the demolition master. None of them would pay him any mind, because the demomen were not supposed to even have these communication devices. There was no point to it.

With a disgraced sigh, he removed his disguise to remove the voice changer, “I require assistance!”

“Oh shit,” he heard the panicked sniper exclaim.

“Sniper, get to the main building,” he barked, “That’s an order!”

“No c-can do!” the sniper exclaimed.

“I think I saw him!” a soldier called over the communication device.

“General?” the spy hesitated. It was the same soldier’s American accent, but it was somehow different.

“Nope, I’m a soldier,” the soldier responded.

“Get off this communication line!” the spy spat.

“Where’s General?” a sniper asked.

“Where’s the medic?” the engineer asked, “Has anybody actually found him yet?”

“Still…still looking!” the panicked sniper replied.

“What?!” the spy exclaimed.

His heart sank with a feeling of despair, then it rose back up in panic. If they were looking for him, then that meant he was on the battlefield, having been seen by somebody.

“Medic fell behind at the base!” the spy replied.

“N-no mate, he came with me on the last truck,” the panicked sniper replied, “Look, spy…I’m trying to find him. I’ll let you know when I find him. But I’m trying to-” He cut off to let off several blasts at the enemy. “I’m trying to focus!”

“Sniper! Find medic and get him out of there!” the spy exclaimed.

He growled with frustration as the grabbed a handle on the box beneath the desk. He quickly dragged it out and around to the door. He would need a better way of doing this than dragging it.

The sound of boots headed his way caught his attention. He grabbed his disguise book and threw on the demo disguise. Before they reached the door he grabbed the dead body and dragged it around the desk to hide it. It was not a very good job though, as a pool of blood led right to its location behind the desk chair.

The door opened and the soldiers stepped inside, “Demoman! There’s nobody on this level.”

“Nor is there anybody on the upper level,” the other soldier added.

“We checked both,” the first soldier added, with a nod.

“Soldier,” the spy rose to full height as he looked over at the box. Their attentions were drawn to it. “Soldier, I require assistance,” the spy walked towards the box hesitantly. He was remembering just how stupid the class was.

“Yes sir?” one of the soldiers said, as they stood at attention.

“How can we be of assistance?” the other added.

“We need to get this box out of here,” the spy stated.

“Negatory,” the first soldier shook his head, “We are to guard it here!”

“Plans have changed,” the spy stated, firmly, “We have to move it from this location before it is found!”

“Negatory,” the second soldier added, “We are to remain in this location.”

“Do you want to be responsible for losing this piece of…thing?” the spy demanded. He was growing a little frustrated with the stubbornness of these soldiers. They were not bright but they were very stubborn.

“N-negatory!” the first soldier responded.

“Then I have a plan,” the spy stated.

“What’s your plan, demo?” the second soldier asked.

“We move this down to a truck and remove it from the premises,” the spy explained, “They won’t know where it went. Then we bring it back once they are wiped out.”

“That is…a good plan!” the second soldier responded.

“I require assistance with moving this,” the spy stated, “Soldier. Take the other handle.” He took a hold of one of the handles, prepared to lift it.

“Yes sir!” the second soldier barked, taking the other handle.

“Let’s move!” the spy barked.

The other soldier opened the door, moving out of the way for them to carry the box out. Next they would have to move past the medics. He could foresee some problems there, especially if they slowed down.

Once they approached the crowd, they were met with confusion. Two of the medics seemed to know exactly what they were carrying. But once they reached the other end of the room, another medic entered.

He was equipped to the teeth with battle-ready gear. He even wore goggles to protect his eyes from the flare of blasts and the smoke. On one hip was holstered a scout-standard shotgun and on the other he had his healing launcher holstered.

“What is this?” the newcomer peeled back his goggles to get a better look at them. His eyes had round circles around them, from where the goggles protected from the smoke that darkened the rest of his face.

“We are relocating!” the soldier with his hands free barked.

“No you are not! Put that back!” the medic ordered.

“We are handling this under emergency precautions,” the soldier responded.

“You are not to remove that from its location!” the medic barked, “You don’t even know how to handle it! Put it back!”

“We are not to lose it, therefore we must use all tactics within our knowledge to keep it safe from the enemy!” the soldier barked in response. He was unwavering in how stubborn he was.

The spy was almost impressed though. The man was clearly stupid and a fool. But, he was clever enough to use words in argumentation against the medic’s claims.

“If we lose this, we lose everything,” the soldier stated, “At this time, we are relocating it to a safe truck to be relocated until further notice. Am I understood?”

“You are a soldier!” the medic barked, “You take orders!”

The medic grabbed his shotgun to fire. The spy reacted quickly, pulling the box forward. The soldier with him charged forward and they bulldozed through the medic. The other soldier followed quickly after them.

“You could have interjected!” the soldier called after the spy.

“Next time, lad!” the spy called over his shoulder, as they made their way down the wide stairs.

There were a few pyromaniacs and soldiers posted here, but they moved out of the way of the charging box. The spy could already smell the victory.

They came out a backdoor, headed towards the rendezvous point. They continued forward, ducking their heads beneath the barrage of gunfire. None of the enemy fired at them though, wary that they were teammates. He could already see some of his teammates judging the group carrying a box though. They had orders to ignore such a troupe, but they were still wary.

“Quickly, the truck is just ahead,” the spy shouted over the noise.

“There are a lot of enemies out here!” the soldier with his hands free shouted, as he set of shots towards the spy’s teammates.

The spy charged ahead, “Just keep moving!”

The doors to the truck flung open and a sniper dressed in rebel attire jumped out. The soldiers were overwhelmed the moment they flung the box into the truck. They did not even put together the rebel attire and the strange truck, before they fell to knife wounds.

“Good to see you, mate,” the sniper wiped some blood off his hand.

The spy paused to drop his disguise, “Good to be here and done with this. Call everybody back.”

“I’m on it!” the sniper grabbed the communication device and stuck it in his ear.

The spy pondered his own, as he tapped his ear. It had gone completely silent. He pulled it out to find that it had broken at some point along the way. He dropped it on the floor of the truck as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Everyone back to the base,” the sniper announced, as he climbed into the passenger seat.

“Alright let’s go!” a scout suddenly jumped in, clambering past the sniper to sit in the middle seat.

The spy growled and rolled his eyes as he put the vehicle into gear, hurrying off before they could be overrun by more useless scouts. They would make a few stops to pick up other teammates along the way of course, but they did not have much time before the enemy would find out about their loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medic gets left behind? Oops.


	7. Into a Hidey Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team hidey hole for the win. Not really, they're hiding from the battle, injured and without enough ammunition.

Medic drew back into the shadows of his hidey hole. He had found this location useful, as the enemy seemed vaguely unaware of it. A few scouts seemed to recognize the location, but he offed them as quickly as they appeared. It was the perfect place to be tucked out of the way, away from the large and bombastic blasts.

He was out of ammunition now though. He had an empty shotgun, an empty pistol, and a single knife. He could not wait for a scout to get too close for him to kill them though. They had their own shot guns and could easily kill him if he lingered too long.

“Dammit,” he muttered as he tossed the shotgun aside.

“Well, well,” a familiar scout voice caught his attention.

He flinched, finding himself facing a scout, who was climbing into the hole. If he had ammunition he could have easily taken the scout out. He charged forward, not wanting the scout to take aim. He had his knife ready, but the scout had already raised his shotgun, with a pleased smirk.

The medic darted out of the way, throwing himself into the dirt. He let out a yell as his arm landed on a rock. He forced himself to his feet, as the scout reloaded his shotgun.

“Not much chance here, doc,” the scout cocked the gun, “I’ll make this quick.”

“I’ll make it quick too,” another scout barked, letting off a shot into the back of the enemy scout’s head.

The scout slid all the way into the hole and collapsed at the bottom of the slope. His breath was labored as he clutched his bleeding chest. He was not alive for very long.

A sudden scream came from right outside. Likely the scout who had shot the first scout. He collapsed through the hole, his limbs giving out beneath him as he collapsed. Like the other Scout, he had been peppered in the torso with a shotgun.

“Oh hey…doc…what’s up?” the scout started laughing. Then he started to cry, until he faded into unconsciousness.

The medic stared with disbelief. He was just saved by a scout, though it seemed he did not even know he was saving the medic, but perhaps just some random teammate. It seemed strange to him. He could not shake a strange feeling as he gaped at the man with disbelief.

He shook himself, “The patient is dying!”

He grabbed his medigun and pulled the trigger. Aimed at the scout, he knew it was healing him, but not if it would work. So much blood had been lost already, that there was a chance that the scout would die before he was finally healed.

He walked towards the body and knelt to check it. He was hesitant, as he reached for the scout’s arm. A wave of relief hit him when he felt the man’s heartbeat in his wrist. The blasts and screams caught his attention from outside. He was not equipped for a fight though. He had used up all of the ammo from his pockets and he was sure somebody would soon catch him off guard. None of his teammates even knew where he was, so how could he rally assistance?

He grabbed the scout’s gun and carefully peered out of the hole. He ducked down out of sight as a group of enemy soldiers went marching past. He could hear them shouting at each other and crying threats at his allies.

He raised the muzzle of the gun as he rose through the hole again. He quickly aimed for the nearest scout and started shooting. He was almost out of ammunition, when the scout nearby him suddenly touched him.

He flinched away with a yell, surprised by the touch. He turned the gun to the scout out of instinct. He had no intention of shooting it though. When he realized that it was the ally scout, he turned his attention back to the hole.

“We’re just about out of ammo,” he stated, as he checked the gun for its last bullet.

“Yea, I got some more in my pockets,” the scout patted himself down, before pulling some ammunition from his pocket.

“Give it here,” he demanded, quickly taking the bullets from the scout to load the gun.

He hurried back into position and took out a couple of scouts. He waited for them to come into his shot though, rather than trying to case them down with the blasts. Each shot was rather simple, just a matter of timing and waiting for the scouts to jump into his field of fire.

“Damn…you’re freakin’ good with that thing,” the scout behind him noted.

“Shut up,” the medic tried to refocus his attention. He was calculating the trajectory of a demoman’s run pattern. He was not sure if the man would run his way or not.

“Uh…could I have my gun back?” the scout requested.

“No,” the medic responded sternly. He was quiet, as he waited, watching the demoman carefully. “I’m taking the shots. If you want to shoot, load that other shotgun.”

The scout took his suggestion, walking over to where the medic left the shotgun. He could hear the smaller man’s footsteps crunching across the sand and gravel. He was hesitant and slow, almost drowsy in the way he was moving.

“Pick up your feet, moron!” the medic barked, “If you fall asleep on the battlefield again, I’ll leave you to die next time.”

“Oh…right…thanks…by the way,” the scout walked over, but did not touch him this time.

“Just load the gun and get to shooting!” the medic barked, “We haven’t got all day. There are soldiers everywhere! And enemy scouts are running amok in this area!”

“Yea, don’t sound so ecstatic,” the scout said sarcastically, as his shotgun clicked. He raised it, standing near the medic to get a shot at one of the many soldiers and scouts running around.

“We’re going to run out of ammunition at this rate,” the medic sighed, as he shot the last bullet in his shotgun.

“Yea…uh…” the scout patted his clothes, “We’re already out.”

“Dammit!” the medic threw the shotgun on the ground, away from himself.

“Shit,” the scout peered out of the hole, “We’re stuck down here. Crawling out would be a death trap!”

“We’ll have to wait it out,” the medic plopped onto the gravel.

“Wait it out?” the scout sounded confused.

“Yes, we’ll have to wait for the battle to settle down,” the medic explained.

“What? We can’t wait around here,” the scout exclaimed.

“Why not?” the medic asked.

“It’s booooooring!” the scout exclaimed.

“Well, do you want to lose your head?” the medic chuckled at the thought of spattering blood. What a waste that would be, after having healed the scout.

“N-no,” the scout hesitated, “I’m not about to lose my head or nothing…it’s just…” His words trailed off as he passed a dirty white baseball between both of his hands.

“Sit down and have patience,” the medic commanded.

The scout plopped onto the ground with a disgruntled sigh. He said nothing, as he began playing with his baseball. He leaned back against the upslope of gravel and dirt, tossing his baseball up at the ceiling, catching it as it came down.

The hours dragged on slowly. The battle was loud and boisterous outside. The stupid roar of soldiers’ voices dragged into the hole, unwanted. The laughter of scouts bounding around outside followed, drowned out only by the occasional assault of a heavy machine gun or a demoman’s powerful bombs.

“What a load,” he heard the scout mumble.

Suddenly, a new figure slid into the hole feet first. The medic lurched to his feet, grabbing the knife from his pocket. He was ready for a fight, one that would end in the newcomer’s death.

The scout barely even reacted, suffering from the blood loss. He simply looked up at the soldier, as he brushed the dirt from his attire. The medic was surprised at himself while he watched the man clean his clothes off, as his attire was that of the rebels, his allies.

“Oh what’s up?” the scout spat, rhetorically.

The soldier growled, before he turned around. He flinched with surprise at seeing the medic there. His face was almost covered by the helmet, covering the majority of his surprised expression. His jaw even started to drop at seeing the medic.

“I thought you had fallen behind the trucks!” the soldier exclaimed.

That was when the medic pieced together the little pins clipped to the hat and the tone of voice. It was not just any regular soldier, it was soldier number one, otherwise known as General. He had designed this entire operation, and he had coordinated the lackluster organization of this entire attack.

“General?” the medic quirked an eyebrow, unable to suppress the question from his expression.

“Oh hey, what are you doing here?” the scout scrambled to his feet.

“You two should be out on the battlefield fighting!” General barked loudly.

“Oh yea, just one problem,” the scout stated.

“What’s the issue?” the soldier wavered on his feet uneasily. He was not looking good, swaying uneasily, as if he might keel over.

“We’re completely out of ammunition for our weapons,” the scout explained, “And we’re completely out manned. So uhhh…yea. We’re fucked down here. Got any weapons on you?”

“I just ran out of ammunition for my rocket launcher,” the soldier explained, “And my pistol has no more bullets. Thinking back…I should have packed more bullets.”

“We all wish we had packed more bullets,” the medic growled with irritation.

“Yea. I’m…jis…goin…” his voice slurred and trailed off as his body wavered. The medic watched as the man fell.

He was not in disbelief or anything. He was aware that General was not in great condition, given the way he was acting. He was almost numb with apathy towards the man’s pain though. Nobody really liked the General, medic did not like him anymore than any other, so he was not exactly sad to see him faint.

The scout shook his head, “We’re screwed.”

The medic sighed and made his way back to his seat. He returned to his position from before. The weight of his body shifting off of his muscles felt so relieving that he felt even more tired than he had before. He was not sure if he should have remained standing, just to keep from dozing off at some point.

“Uh…shouldn’t you heal that guy?” the scout asked.

“What?” the medic looked over at the scout, surprised at the suggestion. He looked at the soldier and sighed. “Oh right…” he unholstered his medigun with a feeling of regret. He almost wanted the oldest soldier to die.

He pulled the trigger, letting a blast hit the soldier’s unconscious body. He felt like it was being wasted though. He should be out on the battlefield taking down scouts and spies. He should be healing a heavy, while he mows down a large number of enemies. That would make him feel better about all of this operation, but there was no way for him to escape this hidey hole to get to a heavy.

“Glad you came to your senses,” the scout threw a finger at him.

The medic responded with a glare. He did not care for the scout’s approval. He did not care for the man’s optimistic view of him in this moment. He was starting to realize that this scout had no further fear of him, now that he had been rescued and turned into an asset.

It was quiet between them for a long time. The scout spent his time playing with his baseball. The medic sat back and pondered what he would do if he were out on the battlefield, rather than trapped in a hole.

He entertained the ideas of his mind for a while. All the while, the silence became a sort of song, with rhythmic blasts and heavy artillery shots. It was not too far from the noise he was used to in his clinic, working at his desk.

“You hear that?” the scout interrupted his thoughts.

“Hear what?” the medic paused to listen for something. He did not hear anything outside of the hole anymore. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly!” the scout exclaimed, with a delighted smile.

“The bombing has ceased,” the soldier muttered, slowly rousing from his gravel-mouthed slumber.

“So the fighting has cleared,” the medic rose to his feet and peered out of the hole, “It seems there is no one around.”

The soldier groaned as he rose off the ground. He picked himself up and began brushing dirt and debris from his face and mouth. He seemed rather numb to the whole conversation, vaguely aware that they were even speaking.

“So let’s get outta here,” the scout hurried past the medic, clambering out of the hole.

“Be warned stupid, there are probably still sentries about!” the doctor called after him.

“Medic…what time is it? Who all is…” he was muttering, barely coherent.

“What are you going on about?” the medic growled, with irritation. He watched as the scout’s legs disappeared out of the hole. “There goes the little brat,” the medic muttered to himself.

“The…the truck! The rendezvous point!” the soldier exclaimed, with renewed energy in his voice.

“What are you talking about?” the medic turned to see the soldier tucking something into his ear, “What are you doing?”

“Hello? Hello is anybody-is anybody there?” the soldier asked, pressing the gadget far into his ear.

“Who are you talking to?” the medic stepped towards the soldier hesitantly. He was confused, though he knew that the gadget in his ear was supposed to contact somebody.

“Is anybody there?!” the soldier called out desperately.

The medic rolled his eyes as he turned his attention to the entrance to the hole. There was no sign of the friendly scout, nor of any enemies. He could not hear anything nearby, aside from some distant echo of gunshots. They were too far away to affect them though, so they had a chance for escape.

“This is General! Somebody respond!” the soldier commanded with frustration.

“Soldier!” the medic barked, “Let’s move out!”

“Negatory!” the soldier removed the earbud and stomped it into the ground.

“What did you do?” the medic exclaimed.

“Our ride is gone,” the soldier responded, “They are all out of range. There is nobody left. No vehicles.”

“W-what?” the medic flinched with surprise and horror, “You mean we are stuck here?”

“Exactly!” the soldier barked.

“You have to be kidding!” the medic exclaimed.

“I’m not jesting,” the soldier responded, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

Suddenly, the scout dove feet first into the hole, screaming in pain all the while. He was clutching his bleeding arm, as he scooted to the ground on his rear. He bit his lip, refraining from further yells of agonizing pain.

“Medic!” the scout yelped, “I need a medic!”

“What did you do, stupid?” the medic growled, as he turned to his launcher out of old instinct.

“We’re not alone,” the scout stated, “There’s a whole troupe camping out in a tower, and a couple of scouts on the outskirts.”

“They will likely die,” the soldier stated.

“Thanks for that,” the scout frowned at General with irritation.

The medic rolled his eyes as he turned on his medigun. He waited as the scout’s bullet wound healed up. He noted that there was a cut on the side of his shirt, with some red bleeding out that was healing as well.

“You’re welcome,” the soldier stated bluntly.

“You need to get your head checked out,” the medic stated, “The stupidity of soldier genetics is pathetic.”

“What are you trying to say?” General growled at him.

“He just called you stupid, stupid!” the scout spat, in a taunting tone.

“Do not be using swears at me, or the last swear you’ll hear is the one of my boot of justice up your rear end!” the soldier roared.

“Bring it on!” the scout leaped to his feet, with a bold look about himself. He was already prepared for another battle. He reached to his side and unlatched a baseball bat from his belt, “I’ve got no bones about beating the shit outta you!”

“You will find that I do not back down from a challenge!” General raised his voice, stepping towards the scout, “And I am an immovable force of destruction!”

“Are you serious? Are you doing this?” the medic asked, with disbelief.

“I’ll use your head for a baseball!” the scout snickered, as he hefted the weight of his bat.

“Bring it on, sissy!” the soldier taunted.

“Stop it!” the medic barked at them.

A new figure slid into the hole. The enemy scout that appeared let off a shot, which went up into the ceiling. His aim was poor and with such a shotgun, he did not have much chance of aiming it well. It was not even the standard shotgun for the scout, a larger gun with too much weight for the small statured man to control.

“Scout!” the medic barked.

The ally scout turned and swung his bat. It met the enemy scout’s gun, coming to hit his hands with the back swing. Both scouts howled, the ally in rage and the enemy in pain.

“Medic! Do you have any ammunition left over?!” the soldier demanded.

The medic growled as he checked the shotgun in hand. It had one last shot that he was previously unaware of. He would need a miracle or a steady hand to take this shot.

“What am I thinking?” he muttered in German, as he took aim, “I have the steadiest and most precise handle on my work of any medic!”

He let off the shot, sending the enemy scout falling backwards in a blast of red. He landed with a thud. Before the dirt even settled around him, the friendly scout looted the body for ammunition and a few other things.

“You disgust me, maggot!” the soldier barked.

“Yea whatever,” the scout bit into a scrap of bread he pulled off the body, “You tell me how we’re gonna survive being stuck in enemy lines.”

“We should be fine, so long as we get to a spare truck,” the soldier stated, “If there are more left behind, then there must be at least one truck.”

“Unlikely,” the scout shook his head, “Enemy demos and Russian roulettes headed out to the trucks earlier. Probably took out some of the guys who came later. Which is why we were missing several engies.”

“That is right,” the medic stated, “We were attacked upon exiting the truck.”

“Yea, like I said,” the scout motioned to the medic, as he loaded his shotgun with new bullets.

“Gimme one of those shotguns,” the soldier demanded.

“Uh…no,” the scout stated.

“Give!” he demanded loudly, with a hand outreached.

“Not gonna happen!” the scout spat a stream of saliva onto the soldier’s boot.

The soldier bared his teeth an angry snarl. He balled his hands into fists as he moved towards the scout.

The medic quickly reacted by raising his shotgun, switching his aim between soldier and scouts, “You idiots! We are stuck here! Now stop being morons and help me figure out a plan!”

“Yea,” the scout dropped the enemy scout’s shotgun at the soldier’s feet, “Let’s do that.”

“What if an enemy comes in?” General demanded.

“Then we need to be vigilant,” the medic insisted.


	8. One Medic Verses Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a failed escape attempt, Medic faced an offer of alliance?

Night came slowly. It cooled the earth beneath them and brought peace, after a day of near-sweltering heat. The harsh sun had beaten down on their hidey hole, making it impossible for them to escape the constant sweating. Caught in their own sweat, they were forced to lay in the dirt, with nothing but their filthy clothes to keep them protected.

The setting of the sun brought a cold chill as well. What wind existed came rushing in through the hole to greet their ears. It ran over their bodies, forcing them to shiver against the chill. Even having an extra coat could not protect the medic, as his dry sweat made his skin even chillier.

The constant fear of another enemy arriving loomed over their heads. They could not sleep, not because they were not exhausted and could not close their eyes. Rather, all they wanted to do all through the night was to close their eyes and dream away this terror. They wanted to lay down and forget about the war for a few hours, counting sheep behind their eyelids.

But, hearing the occasional footsteps of a scouting sniper, or some piece of lumber falling in the distance kept them alert. They sat sleepily in three different sections of the hole, waiting for something to happen. They all tried to keep their eyes on the hole, the only exit and the only entrance to their hideaway.

As the hours went by, they waited. They waited for something to happen outside. They waited for something to happen to them. At times, the medic even expected himself to fall asleep and wake up and find that something was already happening to him. This was in part because he kept dozing off, only to wake up with surprise at his own foolishness.

And just as day became night, the night became dawn. They were not yet greeted by light, as a building blocked their hole from the light. This gave the medic the idea that this hole was in a darker form of shade, where people might not notice people moving out.

He rose to his feet, moving groggily towards the hole. He felt stiff and sore in his back and legs. He could barely keep his knees bending, under all of the pain of his joints.

He stopped in mid step to unholster his medigun. Taking in a deep yawn, he pressed the nozzle to his chin and pulled the trigger. The resulting dizziness made him falter for a moment, but the healing brought more relief to his body than he had realized he needed. No more headache, no more backache and his joints no longer creaked.

He tested his leg, just to be sure, as he holstered his medigun. He checked the strap on it, to make sure it would not fall from his side. When he was satisfied, he headed towards the hole.

“What are you doing?” the scout interrupted him.

He ignored the scout as he peered out of the hole. When he saw nobody, he started crawling out, poking his head and shoulders out of the hole. He paused, listening for enemies nearby.

“See anybody out there?” the scout asked, loudly.

The medic flinched with fear, “Shush!”

He looked around, searching for anybody who might have heard the scout. He was startled at the thought of being caught by the enemy. They would likely be shot down immediately.

“Don’t get cocky,” he heard the soldier behind him, as he clambered out of the hole.

“This may be our only chance,” the medic turned to the hole, “During the twilight hour. We must make our break.”

“Right,” the scout clambered after him. As he reached his feet, he tossed a shotgun to the medic. “Let’s do this!”

“Let’s move, boys!” the soldier clambered out of the hole behind them, bearing a shotgun in one hand.

“Alright,” the scout darted off, “I’ll check the perimeter, you guys head for the rendezvous point!”

“Got it!” the soldier charged ahead, without a second thought.

The medic followed after him, though hesitant. He was the first one out, but the last to think that they should be charging off so quickly. It was still likely that snipers were already posted, looking for any attacks or survivors of yesterday’s strike. He would have to keep a sharp eye open for those Aussie creeps.

“Keep up, doc,” the soldier called over his shoulder.

“I’m coming!” the medic called to him.

A shot went off and the soldier fell with a cry. The medic growled with frustration as he slid to a stop. He ducked low, as he pulled the trigger on his medigun to heal the soldier’s bullet wound.

“Look out!” the scout called, “Snipers overhead!”

“Go take care of them!” the medic called to him.

“I’m on it!” the scout darted past them, rushing to the tower from which the shot came.

“Soldier! Get up!” the medic barked in command.

“I’m…ugh…on it,” the soldier groaned, as he struggled to his feet. He scrambled forward, darting off towards metal rubble burned and melted from large blasts.

He started to follow him, but a shot rang past his ear. He winced with pain, as it burned the side of his face. His hand went up reflexively, as he winced against the pain. Another shot went right into the back of his leg, sending him scrambling. He yowled with pain, but he did not let it stop him. He had suffered pain before, and this was no more than he had already experienced.

He turned the muzzle of his medigun to his leg, trying to get an aim at his moving appendage without stopping. He needed to heal the wound before he bled out too much. But, the medigun needed a target, so it could not lock onto his injury.

He sighed with desperation as he charged after the soldier. If he aimed it at his chin like he normally did it would make him dizzy. He would need a lot more to keep him on his feet if he healed himself that way.

“Just keep moving,” he told himself, as he grit his teeth against the pain.

He followed the soldier as quickly as he could. The American hard head had already gained a lot of ground though. He was too far for the medic to catch up, if he did not slow down or stop for him. He could not call out to the soldier to stop though, as snipers were likely lining up their shots.

Bullets spattered around them as the snipers tried to hit them. They threw up the dirt all around them. The medic weaved a little, trying not to overdo it, while trying to throw off the snipers’ aims. He could already feel his leg growing leaden, as his leg throbbed and pulsed the blood right out of the wound.

“Keep up medic!” General called to him.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” the medic called after him. He was slowing down though, as his leg felt heavier from the wound’s throb.

General yelped as a bullet hit him in the shoulder, “Medic!”

“I’m coming! Hold up, moron!” he aimed his medigun at the soldier to heal his wound.

“Turn back! Turn back! Turn baaaaaaaack,” the scout came charging into him, grabbing a hold of his coat.

“What are you talking about, idiot?” the medic exclaimed, “There are snipers behind us!”

“There is a mecha army of demolition masters and heavys ahead!” the scout screeched, as he blazed the trail back to the hidey hole.

“I’m not afraid of any demomen!” the soldier charged forward, “I fear no heavy!”

“Soldier!” the medic called after him.

“I will not be dissuaded by a bunch of hippies!” the soldier called back.

“Soldier! Return to safe-” medic was cut off as a bullet hit him in the back of the shoulder.

He let out a cry as he fell. He grabbed his medigun and aimed it at his chin, to heal both wounds at once. He turned the medigun up to speed up the healing, feeling the knob blindly with his gloved fingers.

He did not have a chance to react when a painful blast took him by surprise, throwing him forward. His eyes widened in their sockets and his fingers kept turning the knob. The last thing he could see before his vision went was the spatter of blood blowing out of the front of his head.

When he opened his eyes, he was face first in the sand. He was confused and feeling lost. He could vaguely remember where he was. He had been running from something, or rather fighting something. He could not quite remember if he was facing an enemy or not.

“What a peculiar predicament,” he heard his own voice above him.

“Wha? Where?” he looked around, his vision blurred. He tried to reach to his face to feel for his glasses, but his hand was tied down.

“Do you reckon he was trying to avoid the critical headshot?” another with his voice asked.

“I do not believe that is the case,” the first one stated.

“What? You gonna squabble over this guy or you gonna kill him?” the voice of a scout came from a distant area.

The medic moved carefully, slowly picking his face off of the ground. His vision was blurry but he could see enough. To his right were the boots of medics like himself, with the green trimmed coats of the Federal Republic’s Army. Just beyond them was a scout, dressed in similarly marked garb.

He turned his head to look for more. There were some demos and heavys in the distance, but there were none in the immediate vicinity. He could not see any of his teammates either. He was dismayed as the feeling of being alone began to tug at him.

Suddenly a boot landed on his back and forced him down, “He’s awake and moving, it seems.”

“A live patient is better than a dead one, ja?” the second medic asked.

“I suppose as much,” the first medic agreed.

The medic shuddered beneath the boot. Loneliness was a strange feeling that only crept up in old memories. His memories were surprisingly worn and shattered for him, he could not remember back so far as he did before this incident. He knew that it was all much clearer to him only this morning.

Despite being amidst people, he felt alone. It was a terrifying feeling, as he was pulled up by his hands, tied together behind his back. He watched – through blurred vision – as the medics discussed what they would do with him.

He had never liked company in his clinic. He never liked his compatriots being around him, or anywhere close to him. He was not as friendly as the man he remembered from college, or even from his work at the hospital in Auswitz. Even when he first started working for the Rebel army, he remembered wishing he could make friends more than anything.

Now he was without a comrade, a friend, an ally or somebody to just talk to. He could have opened his mouth to speak to these medics, but he was sure of what he would do if his patients talked to him. For that reason, he kept his mouth shut and fretted in silence.

He decided instead to scan the area for his glasses. He was on his feet now, a strong set of hands holding his wrists so he would not run. But from this angle he had a better view, if a blind one.

“Aw mate, poor bugger’s tryin’a see,” he heard the Australian accent and his head spun around.

“No need for that,” one of the medics knocked a small pair of glasses from the sniper’s hand.

“Not much of a fair fight if he’s tied and blinded,” the sniper noted, bending to pick up the glasses.

The other medic sighed with irritation, “Just take them. Maybe we can use them.”

“Very well,” the first medic took the glasses from the sniper, “Be on your way Aussie.”

“No need to be unfriendly, medic,” the sniper said, with a soft chuckle, “You going to bring this fella back?”

“Is that going to be a problem?” the first medic growled.

“Not at all,” the sniper put up his hands defensively, “Just thought I’d offer my assistance. That’s all.”

“You think we cannot handle our own?” the second medic growled with disdain.

“Leave us, Aussie. We can handle this just fine,” the first medic shooed the sniper.

“Alright alright, I’m going, mate!” the sniper’s boots crunched along gravel and dirt as he left.

The two medics grabbed his arms, pulling him from behind. He looked around, as he stumbled backwards. His vision was poor, but he could note some of the figures moving around. The base was already alive with people, picking up from the past day’s events. He and his comrades stood a chance in escaping all along.

He looked up at the sky, to see the same blue sky, clear and hot over the desert. It was the same sky he looked up at back at the rebel base. It was the same as it had been for over four years, caught in a drought.

“Seems odd,” he heard one of the medics speak in German. They paused to help him up a set of stairs, so they would not have to drag him.

“What does?” the other grunted.

“A medic to experiment on?” the first asked, “This isn’t a usual event. I’ve never once heard of experiments on a medic.”

“Haven’t we?” the second asked, with a presumptuous tone.

“Well, that one time…but he was a traitor, there was necessary tests for torture tactics,” the first replied.

“Of course, and this won’t be much different,” the second noted, “We’ll just follow usual protocol.”

“Think number one will even agree with this?” the first asked, “I mean, we never bring medics in for testing. He might just suggest he be killed.”

“You think a medic would be any less useful in tests than any other class?” the first medic scoffed, “I’d say it is a more interesting prospect than any other.”

He looked around as they entered the base. They were in a main sector, where large numbers of men could assemble for announcements or prepare for defense. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw that they were approaching a set of wooden steps that fit right into the base’s ancient build.

“Why is that?” the second asked, pulling him up the first set of steps.

“Think about it! We never get to test on a medic, and our own blood would be superior to the other classes,” the first medic exclaimed, with a deranged sense of excitement in his voice.

“We’re not superior by blood,” the second scoffed with deference, “That’s a stupid assumption on your part. We’re superior for our intelligence.”

“Is that any different from what I mean?” the first paused, as they helped him stumble up the final steps.

“You know, this would be simpler if you had me walking forwards,” he growled with irritated disdain. He had banged his heels on most of the steps, leaving both feet sore.

“Shut up!” the first spat, smacking him across the head with a gloved hand.

He sighed, resigning to silence. He would have to accept every pain that came with this process. They might well torture him for pleasure. He was not yet sure how far gone these medics’ minds had gone. They could have lost all of their humanity already. Though, that would require they were not so social with each other, which could have prevented quite a bit of their derangement.

“Here,” the second medic stopped at a door, “Wait here, I’ll get him.”

“Don’t leave me with this!” the first medic protested.

“I will only be a moment!” the second argued.

“What if he tries to fight back!” the first exclaimed.

“Good point,” the second opened the door. He paused, turning to call out across the building in English, “Demoman! Come hither! Quickly!”

The man called for growled, emptying his bottle of whiskey in a few gulps. He dropped the bottle, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he strolled around the second floor. He growled at the medics incoherently, his snarl making a scar over one eye curl into something uglier.

“Watch him, and don’t let him run,” the second medic pointed to him, before he stomped into the room.

“Aight mate,” the demoman turned his eyes to the captive medic. He had a questioning look in his face, unsure of why he was tied and whether he should be wary.

“Thank you,” the medic who remained behind stated.

The demoman folded his arms and leaned against a wall. He was eyeing the captive warily. He looked ready to draw a weapon from his belt, if he so much as sneezed.

“You found who?!” a roar of German words came from beyond the room the medic had entered.

He raised his eyebrows with surprise. The medic beside him flinched with surprise too. Neither of them were expecting it; they also did not expect several sets of running feet to come hurrying their way either.

Several medics all tried to force their way through the door at once. Caught up in the excitement, they seemed to forget who was going first or that they had been speaking to another medic. They started pushing, shoving and growling at each other.

“Alright mates!” the demoman stepped in to try to organize them, “No need to push. You can all get through one at a time.”

When they made it through, they practically shoved the demoman out of the way and rushed the medic. He took a step back, only to be corrected by the man beside him, who was wary that he might run. He was quickly overrun by eleven medics, all poking, prodding, yanking and speaking at once.

Some of them were arguing with each other, the others were talking about opportunities. He began to wish he was a spy, so he might be trained in deciphering differences in the voices around him. Perhaps he could have made out each argument and discussion’s importance. He was not sure whether to be worried about the men discussing some form of immunization or the men arguing about something he could not catch the topic of.

One of them pushed him forward, sending him into the doorway. They all followed behind, as one guided from his side. They headed through a few sets of door before they came to a gathering area.

Never had he seen so many clones of his own class in one place. He had not seen so many medical professionals in one place since his work in the theater in Auswitz. But what was more surprising to him was the strange innocent looks of excitement in their eyes.

He had expected some sort of look of blood lust. Surely they were all giddy about cutting him open and performing experiments. Yet that look on their faces looked too innocent and childish to be the look of men who had seen war, blood and terror.

“Silence!” one announced, as the door finally closed behind him.

Their voices died down to a low murmur. A few of them still whispered amongst themselves with curiosity and excitement. They were not yet ready to be completely quiet.

One of the medics stepped forward, motioning to the two who had brought him here,   
“Your intention is to… _experiment_ on him?”

“But of course!” one of the two exclaimed.

The other nodded in agreement, “This is an opportunity t-” He was cut off as the man brought the back of his hand across their faces in one fell swing.

Silence hit the room. Even the misfit himself was silent, stunned by the smack. He had not expected such a reaction. Though perhaps the man was making an example of them for subordinates who got their own ideas about what to do with an experiment.

“This is why I work alone,” he muttered to himself.

“This is why, my friends,” the one who stepped forward changed to German, “We must remember that we are human.”

One of the two stepped towards him, hoping to cut him off, “We mustn’t overlook the opportunity to test th-” He was cut off by a glare and a raised hand.

“As it is,” the man who commanded their attention announced, “We’ve yet seen another set of clones in two months.”

The medic snorted in a chuckle. Amongst the rebels they could go a year without seeing a new clone of any class. He had not seen a new medic clone in over a year.

The man commanding the floor glanced at him, warily, “And the damned rebel spies have been sneaking past our defenses…even when we’re attacking their base! We’ve taken as many precautions as we can with our class, but they still manage to cull our numbers!”

The crowd of medics nodded and murmured in agreement. They all saw this as a problem for them. They were in disbelief that the two who brought him were going to perform tests on him.

The man in charge turned to him and extended a hand. He had a pleasant smile on his mouth, like no smile any medic should be able to have. It was not a smile that a fighter should be able to smile. No man who had seen the battlefield and wretched out the guts of a man with the same face should be able to smile with such kindly eyes at another.

He shifted his hands, but they were still tied behind his back. He did not verbally respond, wary that he might get corrected for that too. He was still not sure what all of this was. For all he knew, this was just an act to gain his trust to make him more gullible to the tests they would perform.

“Untie him,” the man growled at the two who had brought him here.

They responded immediately, but he sensed something from them. They were disgruntled at this. They did not like this. And they muttered about it with disdain. They freed his hands, and when he rubbed his wrist, the commander reached out to him again.

He looked from the hand to the face, feeling wary and unsure. He could not trust these medics. They were not his allies nor friends. There was nothing to prove that they would not immediately turn on him.

“Allow me to extend a hand of acceptance, my friend,” the commander said calmly.  
He hesitated, glancing at the two men who had freed him. They stepped away from him. They put distance between him and themselves, with disgruntled looks of men with a blood thirst. They would remember this, he was sure of that.

“We have never done this before,” the commander explained, softly, “But we need you.”

He flinched with surprise. He was taken aback by the implications of the man’s words. He was no less wary of him, in fact he was more worried now than he was before.

He snapped his fingers and one of the other medics stepped forward with a dark lined lab coat. He extended his hand, this time holding the coat, as a peace offering. He looked from the Federal Republic’s standard lab coat to his face with confusion.

“Accept this and join us in our research,” he offered, softly.

“That or be a torture guinea pig,” he heard one of the disgruntled medics growl.

Those words pushed him forward. He took the coat, a bit bewildered by all of this. He glanced at the men who had brought him here, then back to the commander, as the coat hung in his hand.

“Put it on,” the commander stated, and he obeyed, “We have a lot to do to get you situated.”


	9. Medic for Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic finds an old teammate.

The day was spent going over certain procedures, what they were and how to go about them. Each medic basically knew what he was supposed to be doing. But, they were distracted by the newcomer. Each of them wanted to see how the new medic was reacting to their laboratory and clinic. He even noted some overly eager licks of lips, like predators looking to go in for a kill.

Medic number one was giving him a tour himself. It seemed strange. Everything had its place and everything was in its place, so it seemed odd that the man thought he needed to be instructed in these things.

The sheer number of medics was overwhelming. There must have been as many medics here as there were scouts back in his allies’ base. Being afraid of losing some of these medics seemed irrational.

He wore the same outfit, but had changed out the standard Rebellion of the People’s Democracy army coat for the Collective Nations Military coat he was given. He was used to wearing a red coat, aiming for these blue coats, now it was reversed.

He was also given the glasses that had fallen off before, but was promised a new pair. He was relieved at this, since his glasses were cracked across the right lens. At least he had them on his face so he could actually see the world around him without too much strain.

He was directed to the infirmary area, where several medics were cleaning, or at least they were supposed to. When Medic number one walked in, they quickly jumped to their duties without question. They kept their eyes and heads down too, avoiding all eye contact, until the man’s attention went to the equipment he needed this new Medic to be aware of. He was being assigned to this infirmary, where he would help the other Medics clean and tend to wounded mercenaries that came in from the battlefield.

He complied, arguing against absolutely nothing. He was overwhelmed by all of this, but there was something refreshing about that overwhelming feeling. There was so much here, more than one infirmary, and a multitude of supplies to keep the Medics busy with inventory and well-equipped to do their job.

When he was handed his tools for cleaning, he started his work hesitantly. This infirmary was already so sanitary that it rivaled his one-man cleaning job back at the Rebel base. They did not have anybody assigned to cleaning duties other than the mercenaries working in those spaces, after all. He once tried to get some scouts to help him out, but they quickly found that they could escape simply by outrunning him.

He hissed when he realized that there were several sets of eyes on his back. He turned his head to look at them from the corner of his eye. It was a difficult angle, his eye escaping the breadth of the lens assisting his vision. He could see them though, gathered together like a small clique.

One of them sidled towards him, lacking the confidence that usually came with being a clone of Aurick Radlof’s memories. He paused before he raised a finger and spoke in clear German, “We wanted to introduce ourselves.”

He turned the rest of his body, trying to seem more welcoming. He was glad that the response desired was the correct one, as various other classes tended to flinch away when he moved so dramatically. He offered the man his hand in greeting, as seemed only proper, based on his memory of social responses.

“We understand that even though you’re now Medic number one hundred thirty two, you’re used to being Medic number one,” he cleared his throat, speaking in more confidence. His handshake was as firm as his voice was. “We understand that…but do not take liberties too far. Your position is still as that.”

He hesitated, absorbing the man’s words. Considering the situation, this seemed like the nicest way a mercenary could ever possibly be put in his place. He would have imagined at least a bit of viper poison on the man’s tongue while saying this, but there was none of that.

“You understand, yes?” the medic asked.

He paused before nodding. He was slow, thinking carefully over the decision. He had complied up until this point, but he was more suspicious of the tame behavior here than of any wild and angry mercenary out on the battlefield. Even a spy with intentions to manipulate with sweet nothings could not produce such an innocent tone as this man had upon his tongue.

He shook himself slightly. It had to be the language he was speaking. This was his first language after all. He primarily spoken English with others for the past nine years, but now he was hearing his beloved childhood language. It was a nice feeling, and he was almost grateful to these men for that.

The man’s lips twitched in a little smile. His eyes were not meeting his gaze though, he seemed to be looking at his nose – or perhaps his mouth. He could not decide which.

 

He later found that he was working with Medic forty-eight, Medic seventy-three, Medic eighty-eight, Medic eighty-nine, and Medic one hundred and three – in this particular order. They were particular about that order, if ever spoken of in the same line of speaking. They were otherwise quite casual in speaking, almost as equals in a sense.

Once in a while, another Medic would pass by, and they would say greetings and make small talk. These Medics were surprisingly social, with each other and with others. They were almost like chittering birds, which made him miss his infirmary a little more.

There was evidence of birds left behind in his infirmary. He had been waiting for the new order of a bird. He wanted a specific breed of dove though, so he had been patient for the promise of a new pet. It was not too much to ask for, what with all the work he did for the Rebel base.

“New guy,” one of them cut into his thoughts.

He jerked his head up in response. He did not need to say much, and figured it would be best not to, lest he made a wrong move. It was rare that he doubted himself, but he felt out of place.

“What do you think? Egg-white here? Or Crème off-white?” he motioned to a wall behind the infirmary beds.

He flinched, surprised by the question. He looked up at the smooth wall. It was a pretty plain and drab color, with maybe one old yellowish stain. It could have been any assortment of bodily fluids or a liquid medication flung against the wall at some point.

“Er…hmm…” his automated response was in English, “I have no reference for either colors.”

The man asking him smiled at the others, with shining triumph. It made him flinch with surprise. He was not aware of why he would feel triumphant.

“I told you he was not mute!” he announced proudly.

“But of course I am not mute, you-!” he quickly cut himself off, not wanting to create problems for himself. He was very much aware that his position could create problems for him.

As he relaxed his fists at his sides, he became more aware of his position. They did not have to put him in his place, but he was aware that he was over-reactive by nature. He could get away with it back at the base, taking control and killing at will, but here he would have to practice more restraint than was normal to him.

He paused to clear his throat, “That is…to say…I am simply less talkative.”

“Less talkative?” medicn number eighty-eight chuckled.

Medic forty-eight chuckled and nodded, “I imagine things are different over at that other base for you. Rumors that…you’re the only medic on staff?”

He nodded slowly, “Medics do not last long without much support.”

He paused to look around, with a wince of regret. His teammates deserved a better infirmary with more Medics like this base had. That was a strange feeling for him, but he believed it firmly.

“We are up against this,” he motioned to the infirmary around them, though he was sure they did not get the gist of what he really meant. He was referring to this base’s entire army.

The medics all puffed their chests like proud birds and smiled. They shared proud glances, nodding to him and themselves. They were quite satisfied with what he had said, though this was not the desired response.

He came to the conclusion that he could not rely on any kind of empathy, though they seemed to be empathetic with each other. They saw themselves as important, but perhaps did not have a way of stepping outside of their walls to see the perspective of the opposing army.

Now that he came to think of it, he had never thought of looking at this from the perspective of these Medics. Coincidentally, he was now one of them, and he would have to get used to that.

He was medic one hundred and sixty-nine now. He was the lowest of all of the Medics, even being literally older than all of them. The oldest medics had been here six years out of the cloning facility. He could not believe that they were only that old.

The day went by quietly, with only the hum of German clones in his ears. Then the next day went by. Then the next day. And then a full week was gone.

 

It was strangely quiet. It was a droll feeling that grated at his nerves. He was too smart to take any chances though, so he would just grit his teeth and bare it all. He would not show any violence, lest they cast him out – so he would just blend into the crowd of docile Medical professionals.

That was up until he heard the familiar call of his title. The Scottish accent was decipherable amidst the warbled overtones of an explosion that began to mask his cry for help. It was a refreshing change from the constant quiet and the jabbering of German scientists.

But, when his natural instinct whipped his head around, he found that nobody else had paid attention. He was not sure if they had not heard or just did not care, but he was alone in feeling alarmed at being called upon. The desperation in the voice called out for him to respond to a teammate for aid.

“Everything alright?” a man next to him patted his shoulder.

“No,” he spoke in German, “The call of battle has come into these walls.” He marched from the infirmary he was assigned to, heading to the closest place he knew there were guns.

He made his way into a recreational room, which was filled with scouts, a few spies having a smoke and one or two snipers. He went straight for the scouts not paying attention. They had weapons on them, almost all of the time, and so he easily grabbed a double barreled gun and scatter ammo from the young man’s pocket.

“Hey!” the scout protested, followed by his colleagues. They were stumped to see a medic though and simply watched him storm away in silence.

He made his way back to the infirmary to grab a quick shot, which was loaded with needles full of morphine injections. It would be useful to egg on colleagues who were in pain by removing that pain. He tied it to his belt and grabbed a medigun.

With several medics chasing after him, he charged out of the building, following the calls for medic. He noted a medic body fallen somewhere on the ground, having been injured by an explosion, but he ignored it. He darted around some trigger explosives planted by a demolition master, wary that the man might still be around, waiting for the moment that a medic would stumble over them.

“Help!” he heard a sniper call.

He turned the switch on his medigun, activating its function. He felt the soft hum against his gloved hands as it came to life, ready to heal his teammates. It brought a smile to his face as the familiarity of it meshed with the warzone happening around him.

He darted around a corner, just as a Rebel soldier came into the corner of his vision. He was surprised at himself for the reaction. He used to have to react to the blue coats. They were usually the enemy for him, but he was all too aware that he was in a bue coat and would be identified as such by a red coat.

 

“Doc!” a sniper called.

A soldier’s scream tore through the air as a hollow whack of a shovel ended the sniper. He looked up to see the Rebel soldier standing proudly over his kill. He hefted the shovel onto his shoulder, taking a moment to revel in his victory.

Medic raised his gun, but froze. He knew the soldier. It was none other than General, but they were on opposite teams now. He shook the feeling from his head and let off a shot, but he missed, having given the soldier enough time to get away.

“Dammit,” he growled, turning to look through the rest of the fighting. A wave of scouts ran out, taking bullets with reckless abandon.

He sighed, seeing that this was a waste of human flesh. It would be a total waste of his medigun’s charge to aim it at any of them. He instead started moving along the side of the building, staying close to the wall so that nobody could take him by surprise.

He quickly came upon a sniper trying to get back onto his feet. He wasted no time in healing the man’s leg with the medigun. To be sure he would run properly, he gave the man a quick shot to dull the pain in his leg that might well last a few hours.

The sniper tipped his hat before continuing onward. Medic followed him, watching his and the sniper’s backs as they headed around the next corner of the building.

What am I doing? He had to ask himself this many times. He could not make sense of what he was really doing. He was utterly confused that he was in this predicament. He was sure that back at the Rebel base, they would have offed him immediately. If nobody else, medic would have done it himself.

He heard somebody call out for him and he followed the voice. He healed a demoman, looking around warily for another enemy, another Rebel. He felt terrible though, as he searched for the _enemy_. They were his allies once.

At the same time, why did he care? He had a full facility at his disposal. After some time, they would come to trust him and he would be able to do more research. He would have clean facilities and tools at his disposal, to do with what he wished. He could work in peace, and avoid all of those damned patients.

He was lost in thought when a body slammed into him. The scout yowled, while they tumbled head over heels. He could barely catch his breath when he shoved the smaller figure off of him. He reached for something, but only had his medigun at the ready. He cursed himself, searching blindly for a gun.

“Doc?” the confused runt was staring at him.

He gaped back stunned at the scout’s confusion and the lack of blood thirst in his face. They had gone from immediate enemies to sudden passing strangers. Or perhaps they were not strange to each other. If there was no other scout, then this was the scout he spent the night in the hole with.

“Doc! What are you doing in blue? Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick! General has been rallying survivors. We gotta get back to base, but we need the trucks to do it,” scout rambled nonsensically.

Medic stared at the youth quizzically. He recognized him. Of all the medics running around out here in blue coats, he somehow stood out to the scout.

“Doc? Are you listening?” the scout interrupted his thoughts.

Medic shook himself, “Who are you?”

The scout looked stunned. His face started to redden. He looked like he might panic, his fingers twitching against his shotgun.

“You’re uh…you’re the uh…you were uh…” he stammered, his eyes widening.

“You’re the scout from before?” medic offered, “We hid in a hole. We tried to escape, but it failed.”

“They got you…and dressed you up in blue?” the scout looked so puzzled.

Medic opened his mouth to speak, but found that he could not. He was so flabbergasted at what was going on. When he glanced down at himself, he realized how silly it was that he was originally a red coat dressed in a blue coat. He was not even supposed to be out here in the fight, and here he was, intentionally aiding the blue coats.

“Oh wait!” the scout’s eyes lit up, “You’re undercover aren’t you! You’re like a spy, right? You’re like, going to do a thing to get back to the base, right? But you gotta earn their trust first, right?” His eagerness shone through like a brilliant ray of sunshine.

Medic had to gather his wits together, feeling rather stunned. He felt silly for it. He was a smarter class than the scout, so he should be able to handle what was going on around him better. He should not be out-witted by the younger clone. But the longer he took to recover, the quicker the scout figured out that his idea was not true.

“You’re a traitor now?” he exclaimed with dismay.

Medic flung his hand out and grabbed the boy by his jaw. He intended to shut him up, but only managed to look like he was violently shaking him. That was probably for the best, as a couple of snipers rounded the corner. They waved at him.

“Hey doc! You alright?” one of them padded his way, while the other watched around the corner for any enemies.

“Everything is fine here,” medic assured them, trying to smile calmly.

“Want me to shoot him?” the sniper asked, “One pullet.” He brought his weapon to bear. “That’s all it takes.”

“Um, no,” the Medic tightened his grip on the scout’s jaw as he tried to make noises. He did not want anything ruined by the runt trying to say something stupid. “I intend to bring this one,” he explained.

“What?” the sniper gave him a perplexed look.

“You heard me,” the medic nodded to him.

“You want to what?” the sniper raised his eyebrows.

“What’s going on?” the other sniper called to him.

The closer of the two snipers turned back to him, “He wants to keep the scout!”

“What?” the other sniper exclaimed in disbelief, “Why the bloody hell would he want that?”

The first sniper turned back to medic, giving him a questioning look. The two snipers waited patiently though, wondering what was going on with the doctor. They seemed intrigued, or perhaps they were suspicious of him. Medic was starting to panic and he could not read their faces as well as he could before.

Meanwhile, the scout was trying to wrench his hand away. Both hands struggled with the medic’s strong arm, trying to pull his grip off the jaw. He forced small sounds from his throat that barely escaped his mouth, but not having control of his jaw made it impossible for him to speak intelligibly.

“I have an idea for an experiment that I would like to try,” the medic explained.

The first sniper glanced over his shoulder at the other. They shrugged at each other, then the first sniper motioned for them to follow. As the first sniper’s back turned, medic leaned towards the younger clone, giving him a death glare.

“Say anything and I will end you in a blink of an eye,” the medic growled.

The scout was struggling to get his shotgun, which had dropped by their feet. The medic pushed the scout aside, so he could bend to grab the weapon first. When he straightened up, he grabbed the boy by the arm and started dragging him after the sniper. He kept his voice low when he spoke.

“Do as your told. Don’t say anything about home base. Do not say anything about the survivors. Do not talk about General. Do as I say, and you will stay safe,” he growled.

 

When they reached the base, the medics were less than welcoming of his idea. He locked the boy in a closet while he pleaded with the upper ranking medics. He did not even know what he was doing this though, now that he was thinking about it. Standing there in front of medic number one, medic number three and medic number four, he was not sure why he was even trying to keep the scout alive. He never really intended to perform an experiment, he just made it up as he went along, thinking quickly to keep the young clone alive.

“If this experiment works, then any clone from any class could be made to obey completely,” the medic explained, “Imagine the implications!”

“We have those tactics,” medic number four waved off the idea, “We leave that to the spies to handle.”

Medic number three chuckled at that. Medic number one sighed though, shaking his head. There was something somber about his expression.

“It’s bad enough that the spy on the enemy team is good enough to kill our own,” medic number one said, with a matching somber tone.

The other two went silent for a moment. It was like this was a moment of respect for the dead. Medic himself could not help but feel a little left out, unsure of what was being referenced to.

“I’m not sure I can trust you,” medic number one finally said.

“If it’s loyalty you’re after-” the medic started, but the other two quickly rounded on medic number one.

“Are you mad?” number three exclaimed.

“What would we need with this experiment? We have the spies to keep control!” number four added.

“It’s not enough,” number one said, like an admission of guilt, “And torture is not always a useful tactic. I think this man may be adding his own unique perspective, something we would not have thought of before. In his current situation, he has the time to perform experiments like he could not back at the Rebel base. Is that right?”

They all looked to him, taking him in with a somber look, a surprised look and a deadly glare. He nodded slowly, taking in their expressions. This would be a challenge, to hide what he was really planning. Still, it seemed like they were buying it, and that was all he needed.


	10. Class Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is a class worth? What is a scout worth? What is a medic worth?

“Good news, men!” soldier number one announced to the entire base.

Spy looked up from the card game he was playing with the snipers. He hoped that this was important. He was in no mood to deal with some random prattle coming from a soldier.

“Administration is shipping twenty scouts, fifteen soldiers, eighteen snipers, thirty-one pyros, twenty-three heavies, twelve engineers, eight demos, five spies and three medics!”

Spy rolled his eyes before he rose to his feet, “And has Administration considered yet how they have misbalanced their army?”

“Quit your whining! You’re getting five new lackies!” the soldier barked at him.

Spy rolled his eyes again, “I need a cigarette. Sharp, let’s go outside.”

Sniper number one hopped to his feet, though he was already aiming to protest, “The guys don’t mind if we smoke here.”

“Outside,” Spy growled, with irritation.

The sniper did not hesitate as he followed the spy out of the base and into the bright light of the hot desert. This sniper, dubbed Sharp Shooter, was one of the few spy trusted most. He did not trust him with much, just the basic things. And since the recent loss of their only medic, Sharp had been really big on showing how guilty he felt about it.

Spy did not care to humiliate the sniper. There was no changing the loss of their medic. They could never get him back. And while the rest of the base would not understand why spy wanted so badly for _that_ medic to stay alive, he could count on Sharp to at least keep spy’s interests at hand.

As the oldest and most experienced of the snipers, he was their leader. The most laid back of classes, the snipers were usually the least lethal of anyone. But, they were still handy in a pinch, when it came to killing. And with Sharp at spy’s aid, he could have a whole squad of snipers at hand.

When they were a decent distance away from the building, spy reached for his cigarettes and handed one to Sharp. This was not about to be a short discussion, and he was sure that Sharp would want one too. Keeping the snipers addicted to nicotine helped him out sometimes, as they were never obliged on any of their little requests – not like spy was. Spy could get anything, his favorite scarf, his and his predecessor’s favorite brand of cigarettes, even men if he really wanted to.

Sharp waited for him to fetch his lighter, before he spoke, “What are ya thinking about? The new recruits?”

“Only three medics,” spy said, as he took a long drag off his cigarette. He removed it from his mouth before he let out the smoke. “They are only sending us three medics, with a shitload of other mercenaries we do not need,” he relaxed as the nicotine slowly sank in, along with the heat of the sun. Sometimes he wondered if he was committing suicide by wearing a scarf out here.

“Who knows,” Sharp shook his head, “Maybe we’re on the losing team. Maybe that’s just the way it will always be. Maybe even, we won’t ever see the end of this battle. Long after us, clones will continue fighting until somebody decides it’s not worth it anymore.”

“I won’t think about death yet,” spy growled, returning the cigarette to his lips, “I’ve only had so many years, and yet I feel as though I’ve lived for fifty. I should be living more.”

“What?” Sharp shrugged, “You going to leave the rebellion to just piss off so you can do what you want with life?”

“Maybe,” spy shrugged. He had been thinking on this for a long time. It had started planning with some previous spy clones he worked with. The plans had yet to work out properly thought. “Maybe I’ll just continue to piss and moan about all of the bullshit, while nobody does anything about it.”

“You’re the one with all the strings in hand,” Sharp said defensively, “Not me.”

“Yes yes,” spy rolled his eyes. He was quiet for a minute though, thinking on what he would say next. “But say there was a way out of this,” spy suggested.

“Pardon me?” Sharp gave him a disbelieving glance.

“If there was a way off this battlefield,” spy offered, “A way to get away from this nonsensical fighting.”

“Okay,” Sharp did not look like he was following entirely, “I’m listening.”

“If there was a way out,” spy continued, trying to press the matter into the sniper’s mind. He had to understand this and everything it meant – not just what it meant to the spy. “Would you be willing to go with?”

Sharp snorted a laugh, “You asking me to elope with you?”

Spy frowned and raised his middle finger. Sharp burst into laughter, bending over to slap his knee. He reached over to pat spy’s back, repeating over and over about how he was only jesting. Here spy was suggesting escape and this man was having a laugh about it.

After a while, sniper’s laughter died down. He wiped some pretend tears from his eyes, “I’ll give it a think, mate.”

“You’d better hurry up about that think,” the spy warned, turning his gaze towards the other snipers, “Their lives and choices from here on depend on it. Choose wisely, my friend. I won’t regret leaving you behind, it will be all on you.”

Sharp frowned at him, “Don’t pull jokes like this, mate. I don’t reckon many would take well to that talk.”

“Just watch me,” the spy growled, as he left the main room.

He strolled through the hallways with his hands behind his back. He headed down to the infirmary, where he used to spy on the medic working on some concoction or another. He studied the untouched facilities, trying to remember just how he managed to screw up keeping this medic in his happy little laboratory.

 

When the time came to head out for rounds again, Spy was seated with the snipers again. Most of them were talking amongst each other eagerly, all except for Sharp. The man had a troubled look on his face. If the spy did not know any better, he would have guessed that the oldest sniper was feeling sick. He hoped the man was giving the suggestion of escape a real good and hard think.

Their truck rolled to a stop after a blast hit the front. The whole thing jumped and then rolled to a halt in a bed of burnt sand.

“This is where we jump ship, boys!” an Engineer called from the driver’s seat.

“Let’s go!” one of the snipers called out, before they quickly piled out.

The spy was the last one to leave the truck, using a disguise of a sniper to cover his presence. Best to let the enemy think that the spy had stayed behind at the base, or otherwise was trying to go invisible. They would not look to his teammates to be a spy, so they would estimate his abilities to be within the class of a sniper.

The spy followed with the snipers, who were unperturbed by an additional sniper. They acted natural, understanding the way the spy worked. Any other class would get confused or even call him out on being disguised, as if they were too stupid to realize that he was hiding from the enemy in plain sight. Snipers were reliable in this way.

He separated from the others when he reached a set of stairs. He quickly headed into the abandoned little building. He changed his disguise to an enemy sniper, while he continued upwards, searching for the sniper that he was sure was posted here. He was delighted to find a challenge of three snipers in the nest, aiming at his team’s snipers.

He fixed his smile as one of the snipers look up to greet the new sniper. He nodded in response, saying nothing like any sniper would. The man returned his attention to his scope as the spy approached. He did not have much time to eradicate three snipers before they turned on him.

He kept his steps slow and calculated, moving carefully through the room. He made the first kill on the man who looked up. It was a quick stab and the man barely cried out. With a gloved hand over the man’s mouth, the other two were not even cued into their teammate’s death. With a smirk, he returned the disguise and approached the next sniper on his list. After killing the second man the same way, the third became alerted. He drew a machete and turned quickly on the spy, who quickly turned on his invis watch. He dodged out of the way and watched the man run around the room searching blindly for him.

It was pretty entertaining to watch. As long as the invis watch had power, he just stood there and watched as the man ran his energy out. All the while, it was serving as a distraction that allowed his side’s snipers to move forward. When he was starting to think that the spy was gone though, settling back down with his gun at the window, the spy jumped in for the kill.

He underestimated this one. He was quick, with the machete going right up, as if he knew the spy was coming from this angle. The blind strike went into the spy’s armpit, rendering his appendage quite useless.

His eyes widened with pain and he cried out. There was no medic to help him, not yet. There were no medics on his team, not until the shipment arrived. And here he was, the last spy, about to be slain by an enemy sniper.

Thrilled by the possible kill, the sniper yanked the machete away and rose to his full height. The spy struggled for balance as he stumbled away. His mind was spinning with panic and worries about what would happen to him. For some reason, his mind went back to the late doctor. Whether something like this had happened to his medic. If the man had been frightened by some low life enemy like this.

He was not a medic though. He was equipped with skills for this very situation. He was a master of disguise, manipulation and hand-to-hand combat. The sniper would not have the better of him, over an arm injury. He decided that it was best to disappear and make an escape, using his invis watch before he barreled down the stairs. With the sniper right behind him, he had to keep running the entire way until he could jump out of the way, to get to somewhere the man could not predict his movement.

He stuffed himself between some crates on the first floor and sat there, waiting for the sniper to calm down and return to his nest. The pain became shooting though, throbbing throughout his arm and into his shoulder. Between that and the sticky warmth throwing on his spy attire, he was extremely uncomfortable in the hiding place he had made for himself.

 

*********************************************************************

 

“So, what are we doing?” Scout was yammering, “What do I do? Do I like…put on an enemy outfit and pretend to be one of them now?”

“Shut up,” medic snapped, as he finished the collar piece. It was not a very complicated thing, but it needed to emit a convincing level of electricity so that the scout would jump around like an idiot when he was misbehaving.

After a second look over the collar, he decided that it would be fine. He unbuckled it, gently handling the soft leather. It was time to test it out on the subject in question.

“I could totally pull it off though,” the scout went on, “I’m not so different from them. You know? I could blend right in.”

“Yes, yes,” the medic quickly surprised the scout as he slid the collar around his neck. It was a struggle to buckle it though, as the younger mercenary started thrashing in a panic.

“Hey! Whoa! Stop it! No! Back off!” the boy grabbed his wrist and started kicking at him.

“Hold still!” the medic grunted, giving the scout a decent shake at the neck.

Stunned, scout stopped long enough for him to finish buckling the device around his neck. The scout panted, as if he had just ran a marathon. The panic in his eyes reflected the twitching of his fingers across the leather and metal he touched on his neck.

“The hell is this crap?!” he rounded on the medic.

“They demand you be kept in line,” medic replied, “This is the best I can do.”

“I’m not wearing this! Take this off!” scout demanded, trying to feel for the buckle. Medic had placed the buckle with a cover latch at the very back of the neck for this very reason.

The medic chuckled, “No! Leave it alone! Or would you rather a rudimentary spiked collar with a leash to be yanked around on?”

“The hell is your problem! I ain’t stayin’ in no collar!” the scout exclaimed angrily.

“As long as you are here, you are staying in that collar,” the medic explained.

“Then I’m leaving!” the scout exclaimed. He started towards the door, but the medic grabbed his shoulder and flung him against the infirmary cupboards. “Hey! Let me go!” the scout exclaimed.

“You cannot leave, or you will die,” the medic warned, “They won’t keep you alive, unless you are a part of an experiment.”

“Experiment? What experiment?” the scout raised an eyebrow, “And when were you going to tell me about this experiment?”

“Just now,” the medic rolled his eyes with frustration. It was just like a scout to be so foolish as to not understand and see what was going on around him. “And by the end of this week, you are going to fool them into believing that you are the most obedient dog in the world,” medic went on, “Or they may well exterminate you along with the experiment.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” the scout exclaimed.

“Well, no,” medic shook his head.

“No!” scout raised his voice.

Medic put his hand over the other’s mouth, checking around for prying ears. Scouts could be such loud and foolish pranksters. As it was, he needed to keep this scout quiet and under control before somebody found out that half of the experiment was bogus. He did not even know why he was helping the scout. The longer he dealt with this frustrating young man, the harder it was to think of why he had saved his life in the first place.

“Listen to me, you oversized bird!” he lowered his voice to a nasty growl, “When I tell you to do something, just do it! When I give you a command, just obey it! It will not hurt you. In fact, I am doing you a favor by sparing your life. I could just turn you to the other scouts, who would have you become a corpse!”

The scout had a fairly horrified look. He did not want to die. That was something the medic had been counting on. Of all the things that could happen to a clone, of all the things they tolerated, they would do anything to avoid death. This was something he understood of himself.

He turned and pointed to the door, “You see that door? That is an escape. You know what will happen?” Silence answered him, but he could see the fear in his eyes and in the bob of his adam’s apple. “That’s right,” he said, in a low growl, “Death awaits you. Without my say so, you will die. Understood?”

The scout finally nodded slowly. Everything was finally starting to become very clear to him. His liberty-or-death attitude before was already gone by the time the medic readjusted his composure. He put on a small smile and motioned to the door again, this time hoping to make an example.

“Walk to the door,” he told the scout.

“What? Why? No! You just told me not to! You just told me that was death!” the scout shouted, with fear and frustration.

“I will be right behind you,” he lied.

The scout hesitated, looking him up and down. It was clear that he did not trust the medic, even for a moment. Still, there was that threat lingering at the back of his mind, probably conflicting with the threat of death outside of the door.

“Go on,” the medic urged him. He even took a side step towards the door himself.

The scout swallowed his fear as he made his way towards the door. When he finally stepped out, initially nothing happened. The medic remained out of sight though, just within the door where the scout could see him but others could not. Still dressed in the uniform of his old team, the scout looked like a prime target.

“Er…nothing’s happening,” the scout stated, “You lied t-”

His words were cut off by the sudden pah-tah-tah of a needle gun pelleting the scout. Before he could be attacked further, he darted inside, throwing himself at the medic. He was fully ready for a fight, but not actually able to perform one, as his body started shutting down under the influence of the toxin from the needles.

“You bastard!” the scout tried to punch him, as he started collapsing.

The medic took the scout into his arms, scooping him up before he could hit the floor. “No, I didn’t lie. I merely made an example. You are not the type to listen to me.” He checked the scout’s eyes, as he started to drift off. “You will learn not to question me,” he stated as he placed the scout on an examination table.

The scout had already passed out by the time the medic got the antidote out. The poison would not be too harsh to him, so long as he got the antidote quickly. With a quick administration of it and the needles removed – and injections sites patched of course – the medic finished his work and left the smaller mercenary to sleep.

He settled for leaving the scout to sleep off the toxin. He stepped out of his little workspace to see several medics talking together. He approached them, his steps taking up the space between them and his door quickly. They turned the moment he approached, as if offended by his presence.

“I thought we told you not to let that little scout wander around like a loose animal,” one of them growled.

He barely reacted simply placing his arms behind his back, “The _animal_ is collared. If you touch him again, I’ll be sure you barely live to regret the day you crossed me.”

The one he was addressing narrowed his eyes, “You would do well to watch your tongue.”

He stepped towards the man, lowering his tongue, “I would like to see one of you, an untrained kinder of no experience, just try and stop me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sad existence of the scout clone is to be devalued in great numbers.


	11. Sneaky Brat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scout is a brat, after everything medic has willingly done for him. And why?

Morning came and the scout woke up. It was time to test some theories. What was more, it was time to start scouting the base for clues as to how they were getting out. The medic had had enough of this bullshit, and regardless of how poorly equipped he was, he had an itching yearning to go back to where he was before, with the rebellion. At least working alone, he did not have to deal with the fools who were supposedly compared to him.

The scout rubbed his eyes sleepily as he slid off of the gurney turned into a bed. He blinked tiredly at the medic, as if trying to figure out some quandary in his mind. His eyes blinked slowly, his pupils adjusting to the light and the sleepiness adding a touch of oddity to his expression.

“Are you uh…” the scout started but became hesitant. Medic waited quietly as the scout got his bearings. “Are you the same medic?” he asked.

“What kind of question is that?” the medic demanded.

“Okay, so maybe you are not,” the scout grumbled, “Where’s that sack of crap, so I can lay him out?”

The medic sighed and shook his head. This was not going to be an easy task after all. He had hoped that the cretin would have taken some understanding to his position, not only as an enemy who could be killed at any moment, but as a rescuee threatening his rescuer.

“Perhaps I should have just left you to die from the very beginning,” medic folded his hands behind his back.

“So it _is_ you!” the scout proclaimed, as if finding some solution to a problem.

Medic rolled his eyes again, “You are quickly gaining the nickname of vexing at this rate.”

“Vexing?” scout raised an eyebrow at him, “What the hell kind of German word is that?”

The medic sighed and rubbed his temples, “It is English, and it means you are an irritating little shit!”

“Well, fine then!” the scout glared up at him, sticking a finger into his chest, “If you dislike me so much, why don’t you just stop what you’re doing! Stop helping me!”

“Very well,” the medic pushed his glasses up his nose. So much for everything he had been planning, if the scout was going to die.

“Uh…w-wait, no wait,” the scout stammered, his eyes darting around hesitantly, “I mean, you can keep helping me if you _want_ to. I am just saying…it’s not like I made you do anything for me.”

“You’re right,” he shot the scout a glare, “I am done. You have vexed me for the last time, scout. You should be on your way if you want to get very far before a sniper shoots you down.” He lifted his chin to look down his nose at the scout. “Well? Go then!”

“Uh, um…well wait…” the scout stammered.

“What? What is it now? You are having second thoughts about dying?” medic growled with disdain.

He could already see that he was winning the scout back, but he was too irritated to let him back so easily. He kind of wanted to chase the youthful mercenary out of the building himself. It was just a little itch from the frustration of dealing with this confounding idiot.

“I…well, I don’t want to die, I’m just saying,” the scout offered as explanation.

“What? What is it you are saying? That you are ungrateful? Hmm? That you are going to recklessly throw away your life and expect me to come… _protect_ you or something? Please! I will let you walk out of here, and you will die!” the medic raised his voice by small increments as he spoke.

“T-t-ta-take it easy, man!” the scout raised his hands defensively, backing away slightly.

“You don’t even understand half of what I go through around here,” the medic growled, “And you expect me to play the doting parent of some random scout?”

“I’m not a random scout!” he barked back at him, poking a pointed finger at him. His face turned from frightened to angry. “I am a human being! Alright? I got my own thoughts and feelings. I am an individual. And you, nor anybody else…can take that from me! Alright? So just go sit your old ass down at your stupid desk like the fucking egghead you are!”

The medic furrowed his brow, “You know? I think you can stay.” He strode to the table where various implements of medical work were strewn out for cleaning and maintenance.

“What? H-hold on there, buddy,” the scout chuckled nervously, “You sound a little off there.”

Medic grabbed a saw, an implement meant for removing legs and getting through sternums. It could cut through bones like they were made of butter, so a swipe at the other man’s face would likely render him forever scarred if not dead. That thought gave him a bit of disgusting delight as he remembered the many times he had used one of these on coworkers before. Here in this base, he was expected to behave, but nobody would care if a little enemy scout was maimed or killed.

“W-wait a second,” the scout pleaded, “Where you going with this.”

The medic turned, not saying a word. His hand lowered, but his grip tightened on the handle of the saw. He saw the scout’s terror in his face and took a bit of delight in the control he gained from it. He was in control of this situation, and as he drew nearer, his control only strengthened.

“G-get away from me!” the scout backed up, bumping into a counter and knocking down some materials. His hand lurched back, searching for something he could utilize as a weapon.

The medic drew closer until he was just in range to grab the scout. Frightened, the smaller man tried to leap to the side. He was stopped as the medic snatched him by the front of his shirt and lifted him off of his feet. The smaller mercenary immediately started kicking and screaming with fright, as his eyes were brought back to the medic’s gaze.

He was well within grasp to do what he wanted. He had the control back. As he slammed the scout into the cabinets, just over the counter, it felt good. It felt great to have more than a miniscule amount of control over something, or somebody.

Dazed by the hit that struck his head, the scout floundered, his feet no longer moving to kick. Medic drew the younger mercenary close, his other hand raising the saw to a level at which he could not only swipe at him, but saw through his skull. He could already see the blood and its trajectory in his mind’s eye. He could already imagine the scout screaming louder and louder, pleading for mercy from pain and death. And then finally, the younger mercenary would plead for death.

“P-please! Please!” the scout already begged, “Just let me go! I’ll do anything! I’ll do what you say! I swear!”

Medic hesitated, but he did not know why. He had no further interest in working with this scout, at least not an interest that surpassed his current rush of adrenaline, and the high he gained from control. The smaller man’s troublesome pleas should simply make him laugh with utter glee as he sawed through him. Yet, his hand was stilled as the scout closed his eyes and squeezed out a few tears.

They were so different, him and the scout. Now that he thought about it, he had always pictured that clones of anybody were somehow innately the same on a baseline. Though it was not true, he was sure. Having it shaken in front of his face as evidence to the façade that he believed himself to be an individual was heartbreaking.

He had faced the threat of pain and death, and he had won his pride, refusing to plea. How he managed to survive was beyond him now. The medics here had no reason to keep him. Somebody had said that they wanted his experience and knowledge from age, but nobody had yet to make use of him. He might as well have been a new clone shipped in from Administration.

The scout on the other hand was thrashing wildly and pleading for dear life. He was crying and pleading like a helpless puppy. He was even giving up, offering his complete obedience in return for mercy. Yet, there was some semblance of a fighting spirit there, like the scout had taken the fight the wrong way and was now using a new tactic.

They were so different, just being a medic and scout. That in and of its self should have been enough for him to deduce that fact, so he felt pretty stupid pondering it. Yet, he wondered now how many medics would react the same way as him. Would they hold their heads high and wait out the storm as he did? Or, perhaps they would grovel and cry like the child-like men they were. He doubted there were many among them with the heart to actually fight back like real men did.

The scout’s heavy panting pulled him out of thought and into the present moment. The other mercenary’s eyes had opened to look at him. They were full of tears, terror and a strange spirit to fight. Seeing that made the hand with the saw drop to his side.

He leaned in, moving closer to the scout’s ear. He wanted the younger mercenary to hear this in a way that might keep him terrified, “Cross me again, and I will not hesitate to rend your spine from your body.”

The scout swallowed his fear and nodded slowly. His eyes never left the medic as he was placed back on his feet. The two stared at each other for the longest time, one frightened out of his wits and the one looking down on him with indecipherable thoughts about how different they were.

“I…it won’t happen again,” the scout bowed his head slightly in submission.

The medic sighed in relief. If he did not have to fight with the scout anymore, then he could continue with the experiment as planned. He set the saw aside, letting it clatter against the counter.

 

The day’s events were not noteworthy. The most the medic could think of noting of this day was that the Scout kept asking when they were going to go out and join in the battles. They were added to comments about lazy medics and heartless cowards. Medic himself paid it no mind as he detailed his outline for what he would do with the scout. Of course the scout was not aware of that, as he did not pay enough attention.

Finally, the scout came to bother him at his desk, bouncing around and purposefully being a nuisance. “Scout, leave me be,” he growled.

“I am bored!” the scout exclaimed, “There is nothing to do around here!”

“Go find something,” the medic spat, irritably. He hunched over, pulling his papers closer so he could keep them somewhat private to himself, not that he thought the scout would actually look at them.

“I can hardly _go_ anywhere!” the scout exclaimed. The younger mercenary started rubbing his arm, as if suffering from phantom pains.

“I am busy, leave me alone!” the medic shooed him away.

It was like this for the rest of the day. When they went for sleep, the medic tucked the smaller mercenary under his lower bunk, as if he were a dog. There were protests at first, but with enough blankets, the child-like clone was sated and hunkered down in his little _cave_ as he called it.

The day that followed was mostly the same, without any hitches. Then the next day was the same. The next day the scout got himself into a bit of trouble, which the medic had to pull him out of. But then the day after that, the entire base seemed stark quiet and that drove the scout mad. He made too much noise and the medic had to take him outside to walk and run around, almost like a dog.

He was liking this idea less and less now. Trying to make the scout obedient was like trying to tame some wild beast. The creature he was handling was no less disinterested in being a part of the experiment, testing the boundaries at which he was allowed to run and how far from the medic’s side he could go.

This was such a pain for him. He never signed up for pet care. The clone was a human, after all. There should have been no reason for him to be babied. Yet, every day, he started to get more and more annoying.

Finally, the day to answer to the higher ups was coming. It was in less than twenty-four hours, and medic felt like he had made no progress at all. In less than twenty-four hours, he would have to display to them the improvements in obedience in the enemy scout. And if he did not, then his time would have been wasted and the scout would likely be killed.

What a waste of time, he thought. What a waste of his good skill too. He looked up from something he was writing to see the scout laying on his bed with a ball in hand. He had settled for working on his papers in the bunkroom. It seemed to be taboo amidst the medics here, but they would rather he kept the scout away from them and their work spaces. None of them were fond of the class, and this particular scout was noisy and annoying.

He glanced at the window, pausing to listen to the distant explosions. A battle was happening outside, but like the rest of the medics, he was unconcerned. There was still that distant yearning though. He could still feel his kritzkrieg or his medigun in his hands. He could feel the weight of the pack on his back, and feel the victory of having won over death.

“You alright, doc?” the scout interrupted his thoughts.

Typical, he thought, as he turned to look at the smaller mercenary. He was being stared at, as the younger man had stopped bouncing his ball in the air. He had partially sat up, to look at him with this expression of great concern.

The medic leaped to his feet and pushed back the front of his hair, “Scout. Let’s go outside.”

“What?” the scout did not protest, leaping to his feet with a touch of excited bounciness to his movement, “Really? But there’s a battle going on out there. You sure you wanna go?”

The medic looked the curious scout over before looking at the window again. At this angle, he could actually see some of the battle happening in the distance. Explosions were burning the hot desert sands, and mercenaries were screaming war cries at each other.

“Well, then,” medic set his things aside as he headed out of the bunkroom. The scout followed at his heels without questions. “We’ll just have to take some weapons with us, won’t we?”

After retrieving his load out, he led the scout down to the area where the scouts stayed. He picked a random scout’s cabinet, grabbing the spare load out and uniform for the other to don.

“Wait…I’m…” the scout looked at the uniform in his hands, a little dumbfounded.

“Put it on quickly,” the medic stated, “And then we will be on our way.” He headed back through the door, to give the scout some semblance of privacy – it was more of not wanting to look at him.

When the scout rejoined him, he was donning the new outfit. He looked awkward in it, despite the cut and shape being the exact same as the one he had been wearing. He shifted it around and scratched at it.

“Stop fussing, you look foolish,” the medic snapped as they headed down a hallway.

“It feels weird,” the scout stated, “I’m not sure I like this idea.”

“What now?” the medic sighed with exasperation, “Are you going to fuss now? I thought you wanted to go into battle!”

“I did, but…” the scout’s voice trailed off.

“We cannot rejoin our previous affiliation,” the medic stated.

“Why?” the scout scoffed, “Why not? It would be easy enough!”

“And how do you figure that?” the medic asked, with challenge on his tongue.

“Just talk to the others!” the scout exclaimed, “You know! Actually have a conversation! I got pals back there, man! And you…you were around for like…ever…so like, everybody would recognize you!” He had a big smile as he offered that last part. “What do you say? We could go back and rejoin our team!”

The medic hesitated for thought. He was not thinking about joining his old team. He was thinking instead about how similar the teams were. There was so much different here, benefits on either side, but both were just using him for their own benefit. Both sides saw him as a tool, a means to their own end.

Somewhere in his memory were thoughts and memories of a different kind. There was time spent in Germany. There was time spent abroad. There was time spent loving, living and then there was the dying. Through it all he had had – or at least Aurick Radlof had – dreams and aspirations leading to his own gain. He used his own knowledge and strength for what he wanted to do in life, and he went through with every plan.

He had spent enough time fighting to last him another ten lifetimes. He was through with that. Mercenary work was beneath him. He wanted to get into scientific work, to discover what he could really do with the things that Aurick Radlof had discovered, and what he had uncovered himself.

He had no want for playing the puppet anymore. Whether it was here listening to orders from Medics younger than himself, or if it was at the other team, listening to them whine about their problems and how much worse they must have it. Aurick Radlof would have none of this, he thought. Aurick Radlof would have created something that could help him get out of this pathetic excuse of a life.

But no, not a bullet. That was not his style. It was not like death was calling to him. Rather, he thought back to his – or rather Aurick’s – home in Germany. Even if it was not there anymore, there would be people around that area. If he just got out of this war, he could go someplace he could call home.

“Medic?” the scout pressed.

That was when he realized that he had been pondering for quite a while. It was time to give an answer. It was time to do something about his situation. Just what he would do about it, he was not sure.

“Let’s get to the battlefield,” he told the scout, in a cold tone, “Only do as you’re told. Right?”

The scout gave him an irritated look, then he rolled his eyes, “Fine, I got it.”

 

Medic did not pay much mind to the scout as they fought. The other mercenary stayed close to him for much of the round. He would dart off to hit some enemies – or rather try to – then return to the medic’s side. He felt blindsided when he was healing a demoman and he realized that the scout had vanished.

“Scout?” he called out, but there was no answer.

Irritated, he turned his attention to searching for scout. The younger mercenary had left not a trace of himself, after finding the bravery to wander so far from the safety of the medigun.

He paid little mind to the falling teammates, even as they called out to him in desperation for help. Their cries went unheard, as he moved through the fray, saving his attention for that youth he had saved. He was about to give up when his eyes laid upon a scout. He was about to call out to the scout, when he realized that there were many of them. They all looked the exact same, only distinguished from each other by the colors on their clothes, one depicting the Collective Nations Military and the other displaying the symbol of the Rebellion of the People’s Democracy.

He did not particularly care for one side or the other. He did not care if they died. He did not care how many died. He just wanted to find the one scout he had been taking care of. But, laid out before him was a puzzle of men who all had the same baby face and the same stature.

“Heads up, chucklenuts!” a scout called out.

He ducked instinctively, as a ball came his way. It was not the only one though, as three others came his way. In dodging the first one, he walked right into the line of the second and fourth ones, which caused him confusion. Dazed, he stumbled about, trying to grasp his surroundings and get his wits about him. He was vulnerable and unable to do much more than swing his axe around blindly.

In those ten seconds of being dazed, he must have been hit by two dozen bats. He had started running after the first one, but given that scouts were faster than him, he could not really escape the rest of them. They kept chasing him, until he dropped himself into a trench. Whose trench he did not know or care to know, he just wanted away from the flock of scouts chasing him.

When he got his bearings, he looked over to see that he had landed on top of a dead demoman, who had died on top of a dead soldier. A live soldier was next to them, wrapping up his arm. He turned to the medic, with a desperate look of despair, “Doc!”

With a roll of his eyes and an irritated sigh, he turned on his medigun, training it on the soldier. The man smiled, pleased at being healed, and relieved at the eased pain. Now he could pick up his rocket launcher and start fighting back. Glad to have a body shield, the medic decided to use this golden opportunity to search for his scout.

He clambered out of the trench, following the soldier. He stayed close to him, with his medigun trained to his body, preparing for the ultimate charge. He might have to waste it on this soldier, but he had no other option if he was going to find the collared scout. At that thought, he remembered the collar, and started checking the necks of the scouts.

When he could not find the younger mercenary, he turned his attention fully to the soldier. “I need to find a scout,” he shouted, when he got closer to the man’s hearing range, “Pull back to the trenches.”

“Roger that!” the soldier saluted and obeyed.

That was a strange feeling, to be willingly obeyed. He followed the soldier back towards the trenches, hoping he could search for the scout. It was entirely possible that in his giddiness for battle, the scout had gotten himself killed.

“Help!” the familiar call of a scout drew him down the moment the bottom of the trenches became visible.

“That scout?” the soldier pointed questioningly.

The medic was quiet, as he slid down the edge of the trench, down to its bottom. He bent to move the heap of bodies that were covering the scout, who only had an arm and the ends of his legs sticking out. The soldier slid down after him and started helping to unbury the living body.

The moment he removed the demo from his face, the medic recognized the scout with his collar. The younger man gave him a glare and then looked away. He lifted his hand though, expecting to be pulled to his feet.

“The hell are you doing here?” the medic demanded.

That got the other man’s head to spin towards him, “What? What do you mean?”

“You ran off!” medic declared angrily.

“You had me on a collar!” the scout said, his hand touching the strap around his neck tentatively, “And I was trying to talk to my friends.”

“You don’t have any friends, scout!” medic shouted at him, frustratedly. They were on the other team now, how could he have friends? Other than himself, the scout only ever spent time around other medics, who despised him for being a scout.

“Y-you’re probably right on that one,” the scout got a forlorn look to his face.

“No laying around on the job!” the soldier announced, grabbing the scout’s hand to pull him up, “Time to get back on the battlefield.”

Medic did not ponder on what the scout was thinking or what he had been trying to do. He just told the younger man to stay close, training his medigun to the soldier. The scout seemed to take the command to heart, though there was much less heart in the way he was fighting for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is going to take a long time to write fully. But I am enjoying the story. I have a whole plot on these characters coming up. I haven't decided on specific endings yet, but I think that will be decided as time goes on. The story has changed quite a bit (in my mind) since I started it.


	12. Feeling of Entrapment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout feels rather stuck in his current situation.

Scout woke shuddering. The world felt cold, even though he was wrapped in two blankets. The medic had begrudgingly given him more blankets, but up against the cold concrete floor, a few blankets meant nothing. What was worse were the rats and this constant sensation of being haunted during the night.

He could hardly sleep now, not with all that had happened. It felt good to get into battle, but not like this. This had not been what he had wanted or even expected. Nothing was right, not in his mind.

All he wanted was to go home, back to his team. They were like a family after all. Trapped here amongst these Medics, he felt so suffocated. None of them liked him or wanted him around, which was typical of any class other than a Scout.

But among Scouts, back at the Rebellion, he was a friend and a brother. He had younger brothers to watch out for. He watched some of them die today, unable to save them, like he could not even throw himself in front of a bullet for them. They did not trust him to do that.

All of them believed him dead. None of them believed what he had said. None of them would even stop to listen to him when he tried to speak with them. They just kept shooting and running away. If they talked about it among themselves, he was sure to never know.

What hurt most of all was the one who did believe him. The biggest jester, the biggest prankster of them all, Chester. He saw him and acknowledged him as real. He saw him and remembered who he was, a friend and a brother. But when he saw him, dressed in the uniform of the Collective Nations Military, he saw a traitor and a scoundrel. He was as quick as the rest to shoot at him, asking no questions and merely firing at him without reckless abandon.

He had no friends. No family. No place to call home. Nobody to call on when he needed it.

He could not even sit up at night. And trying to creep out was a dooming situation. Any attempt to leave made just enough noise to wake a medic. Most of the other medics in the bunk would immediately make a sound that would wake his medic, if he did not wake up initially. The result would be a panic attack for him and a volt of shock from the collar.

The medic had already made a few _improvements_ to his collar. He could no longer feel the latch anymore, for one. That made it impossible to take off, meaning he was stuck with it until the medic decided to take it off of him.

He was truly stuck here. He was trapped after all. Attempts at escape would surely end in his death. Even if he survived though, he would be dragged back here and the doctor would find some form of torture punishment for him. How miserable.

Closed up in that little space under the bed, there was not much he could do. He could worry away his time and thoughts. He would wonder about what his old friends were doing, if they thought about him.

It was all for naught in the end. As morning came and the medics started to wake, he was dragged out to follow _the_ medic on a leash. How degrading.

How could a guy pick himself up in such a position? Being in this state made him feel all the more depressed. There was no lower position than this, and he could not see himself escaping it without an ending equating to death.

“Here we are. Have a seat,” the medic gestured in the general area of what seemed to be his designated spot to sit in.

Nearby, two other medics were gabbing amongst themselves in German. He rarely heard most of the medics speak German, until they were in close quarters with him, as if trying to keep him from hearing what they were saying and knowing they were talking about him. By now, it was just a dead giveaway that they were discussing his presence in their laboratory.

But, this time, they involved _that_ medic in their conversation. They called him over, beckoning him with worried looks. When he joined them in conversation, looking as spiteful an haughty as he did with every other mercenary, they seemed to break some sort of news to him. Based on their expressions, scout could see that there was something troublesome that they were sharing with him.

That guy was not quite on their level though. It was like he thought he was above problems or something, because he held a casual smile and the haughtiest posture. It was like he was some sort of duke and they were mere peasants in his presence. Figuring the gist of what was going on, bad news being shared, scout kind of admired the guy’s tenacity when it came to acting like he was above the situation. It was how most scouts were supposed to act anyways, when they got bad news, but he rarely saw any of his pals back at the other base keep their heads high enough when it came to bad news.

He straightened up when the medic headed his way. He did not want to be caught staring, nor looking like he was dozing off. That seemed to piss him off and he took great pleasure in making scout more miserable when he did things like that.

“It seems our trip to the battlefield caught the wrong attention,” the man’s façade finally showed a crack, with a small frown of disappointment.

“So, what now? No more battles or something?” he asked. He was not too bothered, knowing now that there was no chance in getting his old friends to help him escape. He was considered a traitor by them, if they did recognize him.

This did mean a whole lot of nothing to do though. With nothing for scout to do, he was just cooped up in here. That meant trying not to snooze while also not staring at anybody. He could not test anything, play with anything, especially if it made a mess. He could not sing a song, or hum a tune, or make noises of any kind.

Partly, he thought it was because the guy was an asshole. But, he _did_ understand that the others were assholes too. They did not like scouts, they generally looked down of them in some strange way, like they thought scouts were intellectually inferior creatures or something. What was more, they did not like scouts in their space, messing with their things and getting in their way. Much of what his medic seemed to do was to keep him out of the others’ way.

Now there was not even the hope of going outside and killing some people. Even if they were friends, they were the enemy now. He had no choice but to work with what he had, in this case, he had to work with the previous enemy, and so did the medic.

To his credit though, the medic seemed more on top of it than he was. Of course, he already cut himself a ranking amidst the other medics, putting himself back in a place where he was most comfortable: the laboratory. Scout on the other hand had only managed to be dragged around, following like a slow dog on a chain link leash.

“You’re doing that thing,” medic interrupted his train of thought.

“Hmm?” scout blinked up at him, staying put in his seat as he was supposed to.

“Swinging your legs,” the man gestured to his knees, “You do that when you’re thinking or reminiscing or something.”

“Yea? So? Can’t I move? I gotta do something,” scout moaned. No way to just go out and run, to get all of that pent up energy out. What was worse was that his body still remembered the months of running, the months of exercising every day, regardless of whether there was a battle or not.

“Fine, let’s go outside,” the medic sighed.

“Really? But I thought you just said that there was a problem about going into battle,” scout said, a bit hesitant to make some higher ups angry. Pissing some higher ups here could land them both dead or worse.

“There’s no battle here today,” medic protested, “We’ll go out to the back area and you can get some exercise.”

The promise sounded like heaven. The notion of exercise put a burst of energy into his gut, causing it to spring to life as he jumped to his feet. His smile was quickly wiped away as he looked up at the medic and realized that he should not have done that.

He sighed and sat back down, hoping that this would not put a damper on the time spent outside. He rested his chin on his palm and his elbow on his leg, waiting for the medic’s okay to get up and move. He was looking up at the one medic, but he could feel the burning sensation of the gazes of the other two medics. Loathing built up in his gut as he longed for a bat and a chance to batter their brains. How sweet that would be, to get the feeling of wood between his hands, and the feel of it impacting with their heads.

“Come on then,” the medic sighed, with a roll of his eyes.

He started out the door and scout was quick to follow. He could hear the whispers of the other medics behind them though. It was in German though, or at least he was pretty sure that it was German, so he could not understand it anyways.

“A learning curve,” the medic suddenly stated.

The scout quickened his pace to catch up to the medic, “A what?”

“You’re learning,” the medic sighed, “Let’s hope that amounts to _something_ and not a pathetic excuse of nothing.”

“Hey! I can be smart too!” he exclaimed, defensively.

All medics thought that way though, at least about scouts. It was likely they thought this way about all other classes, even the engineers. Though, he was pretty sure that the engineers were smarter in the department of physics and robots and such.

“You keep telling yourself that,” the medic led the way out a back door, “Maybe it’ll actually help you break the mold.”

“The mold? What mold? I’m not a mold! I’m not moldy!” he exclaimed.

He gave himself a sniff while the medic was not looking. Maybe he could use an extra shower now and again, but the medic did not seem to preoccupy himself with letting scout get a decent wash every day.

“Feh, English is supposed to be _your_ native language!” the medic squawked, “I meant mold. You know? Mold as in something you use to shape something into a certain shape. It is used to make replicas of that same shape. Sort of like a box you would use to fit stuff in that shame cubic form every time.”

“And you think I’m a mold?” scout scratched his head, feeling a little confused.

“No!” the medic sighed with exasperation. It was not scout’s fault that he was bad at explaining things. “You- I- We- Everybody on this base…everybody in this war, we fit into a category. That _mold_ serves its purpose of keeping us within our class. Our molds were started from our genetics, pulled from the people we were cloned from, and filled out by the memories implanted from their pasts. Then you add on the constant opposition via other classes, in which they assume you are a way because of your predecessors.”

The scout hesitated, feeling rather taken aback. He understood that, at least he was sure he got the point. The gist of it made sense, and it seemed rather deep. Even for the medic, whose depth only went into the factual knowledge of biology and how things worked. Scout never took him for the type to think on how their societal structure worked.

Scout himself had thought on that very concept. Every day he thought about it. A scout had to, seeing just how many scouts turn out in this way that was outside of that _mold_ – as the medic called it – and kept pushing forward as hard as other scouts, in spite of how others tried to fit them into the box of what a scout was.

There were scouts like Kit, who was physically stunted from his making, which made him run awkwardly. He was no less than any other scout, and kept pushing forward with the rest. He was one of the best too, using what he knew about what he could do and making his advantage his thoughtful slowness.

There was Japs, who was so high strung that no scout to match his level. Sometimes he even seemed too annoying. Still, as the oldest scout on the Rebel team, Japs was pretty cool, especially to keep so much cheery energy. He often used it to cheer people up and cheer on other scouts during battles and even in training.

Then there was Chester. Many of the older guys called him Jester. He was a cunning guy, a mastermind of mischief. There were stories about when he was first brought to the base, about how he started doing things that left the rest of the army distraught with grief, fear and hostility. Those pranks and such stopped within a few months, before he himself was brought to the base. There were still shadows of those pranks though, smaller things that Chester knew he could get away with, showing his cunning while having a good laugh at others.

Scout had had plenty of time to ruminate on these things. Personalities, physical attributes, and even experiences were simply not the same. Scouts looked the same, talked the same, acted similar, thought similarly, and had all of the same memories as Skeeter Pontrelli. However, assuming any one scout to be the same as the next scout was a huge misstep.

They stepped out into the bright sunlight and scout had to squint. Fighting off the sun’s rays, he lifted a hand to look out across the desert sands. Somewhere out there was probably some form of civilization, but not one that would be very welcoming of mercenaries – shunning the types who were killers, thieves and thugs by nature. Just knowing that was enough to give him second thoughts about trying to go beyond those hot sands.

“Seems like it should rain,” he said, fanning himself with his hat. He looked up at the cloudless sky, wishing he could see some white tufts of cotton.

“There’s not a cloud in the sky, why would it rain?” the medic scoffed.

Scout rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the land laid out before him. It was a gorgeous stretch, with barely anything for as far as the eye could see. Unlike the front area, where the Rebel army tended to fight them upon approach.

The heat burned his face, but scot did not care. He felt so free in his moment, looking out upon the open stretch of land on which he could run. All of his cares and worries ceased to exist as his attention became absorbed in this feeling, letting thoughts about the medics and the reality of his life there fade into the back of his mind. He felt so free that he took his shirt off.

Baking in the tan tank top, he took off at a jog at first. He could feel the older mercenary’s eyes on him, but as he kept going, that feeling faded. For now, he was free on the open turf. It felt like a place Skeeter used to call home.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Medic watched from a distance. The scout was running hard and fast against the dry hot sands of the red desert. It looked painful, yet somehow scouts managed to enjoy burning themselves in the heat, beating their shoes – and effectively their muscles – with every jolt of force.

He watched the scout run out so far that he could no longer make out his form on the horizon. Still, he did not fret about how far he went, and was rewarded for his patience at seeing the scout turn around to return. He did not even question the scout’s return, not even for a moment. Scout would only go so far. That was obedience.

He looked on with a small smile, as the scout returned. It felt like a small, but significant success. As scout came back, he erased the smile from his own face. He did don’t want to show any kind of emotion that might suggest positivity, especially directed at a scout. Given the obedience training he was doing with this particular scout, it was most evidently important for him to keep a certain outward appearance.

At this point scout was under the impression that the medic did not like him. And that was not far off! Medic did not like him. Medics hated scouts and that was a bottom line. Keeping certain things the way they were would help him in keeping scout in line, and preventing him from questioning it.

Not to mention the element of just how many other medics there were. They all hated scouts more openly than he ever displayed in the past. Keeping scout trained to understand that would keep the younger mercenary alive longer. To that effect, it would keep his little experiment going longer.

Thinking back on the Rebel army, he felt rather disappointed that he did not have an effective alternative. It was becoming rather stale to stay in the laboratory he was in. Stuck with those medics, medics who were specifically cloned for the Collective Nations military, he could not help but long for his old workshop, where he was generally alone and could keep to himself. He did not even typically have somebody to answer to. He just had to keep to himself and not worry about the bullshit of other mercenaries.

Then there was the spy. That damn spy might as well have planned out his doom. The more he thought back on it though, the less he was sure on what had happened, unsure of whether the details were true or just figments of his mind. This was spy’s fault, intentional or not. If not for his intervention in the work he was doing, he would not have been late and he would not have been shoved into the last truck leaving the base.

“You got some idea in your head?” the scout interrupted his thoughts.

He looked over at the scout and had a moment of confusion. For some reason, his eyes landed on the tanktop, or rather the hems, where the gleam of sweat went from soaking the shirt to causing a gleam on muscles that were typically hidden under his uniform shirt.

He motioned to the shirt that had been discarded to the side, “Put your shirt back on, before I end up blind.”

Scout snickered as he picked up his shirt, “With those prescription glasses, you might as well already be blind.”

Medic frowned at him, “Come on. It’s hot out here. I don’t want to get a heat stroke. It’s disgustingly hot enough, I don’t want to see you so naked.”

Scout scoffed, “Speaking of…you know…I haven’t had a shower in like…two days.”

“You sleep on the floor,” medic noted, “What do you care?”

“Yea, well it feels gross,” scout pressed, “I meant, it can’t hurt to get at least _one_ shower in. I’ll bet those medic buddies that sleep in the nearby bunks complain about the smell.”

“Yes, well that’s because you’re a scout,” medic noted, tightening his frown.

“I wouldn’t smell so bad if I had a shower more often,” scout insisted.

“I’ll think on it,” medic motioned to the door, “Inside. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I worked on this fic. But not to worry, I haven't forgotten about it.


	13. Things Aren’t the Same; Things Aren’t What They Seem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another disagreement between the scout and the medic. It ends how you think it would. And scout makes a quick escape.

Scout stared at the ceiling, wishing he could escape this hour of boredom. Yet another day of just staring boredly at nothing but the ceiling or whatever else was not in the vicinity of a medic. Because God forbid if any scout look in the direction of a medic, as it made them so uncomfortable.

It was frustrating that he was stuck in this constant state of boredom. There was never anything to do. There was not so much as a board game to play. He could not even have a book to entertain himself with. He had learned the hard way that the medics’ idea of entertainment in literature was biology studies.

“Stop looking so bored,” the medic suddenly said to him.

“What? How?” scout scoffed a him.

“By knocking it off,” medic was sorting through some ingredients he had been given.

“Whatever,” scout sat up and glanced around. Of course, that meant that he accidentally glanced at the other medics, which made them give him the nastiest glares. He sighed in frustration and laid his head back down again. “Everything here is so fucking boring,” he grumbled, “I’m not allowed to _do_ anything!”

“Well, you’re in another base,” the medic replied, “You’re not exactly welcome here. So, there is not much you can do, one way or another.”

“I don’t even want to _be_ here! You’re the reason I ended up here!” scout went on, groaning with frustration, “If you hadn’t dragged me here-”

“You would be dead!” the medic snapped at him, cutting him off.

“Not entirely sure that’s not better than this silent hell!” scout threw his hands up into the air with exasperation.

“Would you shush!” medic hissed at him, “You draw too much attention being so loud.”

“Oh no!” scout raised his voice louder, “I would not want to get anybody in trouble by getting on somebody’s nerves and being loud!”

“Could you do something about him?” the other two medics in the lab walked over to get **the** medic’s attention.

“Oh I’m sorry! Am I being loud?!” scout waved his arms around with exaggerated frustration, “I can’t hear you over the sound of how freaking bored I am!”

“Scout, be quiet!” the medic snapped at him irritably.

“No! You be quiet!” scout barked at him. He was tired of being pushed around.

There was no response. At first, scout felt accomplished. He stood up for himself, after all. It felt nice to just be able to speak his mind for once and make the medics a little uncomfortable. God forbid that they felt a little irritated by noise.

The following moment was utter pain. He let out a howl that he could not even hear, as his body convulsed with electric pain. The shooting pains tasted like yellow, and he was not sure if he was seeing lemon sour or rose fragrance. It was a strange shock that left him feeling terrified and confused all in the same instance, with such intensity that he could not think about it properly.

When he was finally able to cognitively think, the world around him becoming clearer, he blinked up at the ceiling with a feeling of disbelief. Tears were dripping down the sides of his face, overflowing from his eyes. He blinked away the bleariness, trying to clear his mind and get a handle on what had just happened to him.

“When I tell you to be quiet, be quiet,” he heard the medic say, sternly.

He continued blinking at the ceiling, feeling bewildered. He did not know the collar could be that powerful. It hit him so hard, using an impossible amount of electricity. He felt amazed that he was still alive.

Then again, it triggered a memory from Skeeter. It was from back in his youth, before becoming a mercenary. Skeeter must have been thirteen or fourteen years old. It was back when he was still trying to show off to his brothers, trying to show that he could be a tough kid in the face of their taunts and laughter.

He was being taunted by his older brothers. They did not believe that he could jump from the car, over the barbed wire fence and into the junkyard. There was a dog waiting on the other side, barking at them with a malicious tone in its yappy voice. They knew the dog would not actually bite them, it was not any real harm. It was the fence itself, and then the man who would likely wring their necks if he ever got his hands on them. Given he was out for the day, they had nothing to worry about, just the fence itself.

There was not any real reason to go into the junkyard, now that he thought about it. Looking back on it, it was a pointless fete, but he had been challenged to it by his brothers and he would never ever back down from such a challenge. He would not be called a chicken and he would prove to them that day that he could not be called a little baby. At least, that was what he had thought.

He remembered being ready and prepped to launch himself over the fence. Everything was ready and set for him to go. The car was not too close to the fence, but he had made bigger jumps. The real strain would be landing in such a way that he would not hurt himself. His reward would be puppy kisses and his brothers’ cheering.

He remember taking to the launch, rushing towards the fence along the top of the car. Then mom’s voice caught his ear and her figure came into the corner of his vision. He had a few expletives to launch, but he was already partway through launching himself over the fence. He did not have time for expletives, as he shot himself toward the waiting puppy. His mind was caught by his mother though, panicking with the worry of what he would have to tell her to get her off of his case about jumping the old junkyard fence to get in, when the man had complained about their pestering presence on his property time and again.

He did not even know what was happening. He had been celebrating in his mind, already partway toward the puppy. The adorable pooch was bouncing around, hopping up onto its hind feet as it smiled up at him with the most adorable look. But, something stopped his forward movement, stopping him up and causing him to suddenly fall, snagging and dangling against the fence.

He let out a yelp at first, surprised at whatever had grabbed his foot. He did not even have the time to look at his shoe to figure out what was happening. The sudden lurching feeling sent a yowling screech through his throat and the taste of purple to his tongue. Terror had mixed with confusion, and he was not even sure what to do at that point, hanging limply as electricity pulsed through his body.

It took near half an hour to get him down from that fence. His mom had hopped the fence herself, refusing to let his brothers go anywhere near the electrified fence. It did not even look like an electrified fence, so she was afraid of what might happen. It took her a mere minute to get him down, prying him right out of his shoe and setting him down to play with the eager pitbull on the ground. It took her another five minutes to cut down his shoe, ruining the laces, before she grabbed his hand, stuffed the shoe in his hand and forbade him from ever returning to this junkyard.

“Hmm…” the medic pulled him out of memories.

He opened his eyes, looking over at the man. He was peering at him, as if at a lab rat. Perhaps he was studying him for an idea. If he was getting an idea, then scout did not want to aid him with anything.

He turned onto his side, turning his back to the man. He bit his lip, as the tears still did not stop flowing. He was not necessarily trying to stop the flow of tears. He could not bring himself to care enough to stop the tears, let alone care enough to say anything rude to the medic right now. He just wanted to close his eyes and make all of this disappear for a few hours.

 

The scout woke up from a nap a few hours later. He sniffled, feeling the remnants of tears from hours ago. He ran his tongue over his teeth, suspicious that his teeth might taste burnt or something.

He looked around and was a bit surprised to see that there was a blanket on top of him. He had been wrapped up at some point, or at least covered, while he was sleeping. He touched the blanket hesitantly, before turning to look around.

Most of the lab was silent and empty. The other medics were gone for now. The medic was at his usual station though. He had fallen asleep though, looking like he had passed out where he sat at the desk.

He sighed, feeling quite displaced. Saying he wished he was really Skeeter, and that he could go back to see his mother and brothers was an understatement. He did not know a scout who did not wish they could turn back time and be the real Skeeter. Probably the scouts cloned from Skeeter here at this base felt the same way.

The hum of voices caught his attention, drawing him from his place of rest. He moved carefully and slowly, not wanting to alarm anybody of his presence. He moved towards the doorway, which did not necessarily have a door. It was just an opening that led to the larger more open social area that medics used for gathering and discussing things.

He pressed his back against the wall, listening intently at the entrance. He dared not peer around the edge, lest he let them know he was there and listening. The sheer secrecy of his behavior here made him feel like a spy, like some sort of secret agent, like how Skeeter used to play with his brothers as a kid.

“I can’t deal with this,” one of the medics said.

“It won’t be much longer,” another said.

“No, I can’t put up with him anymore!” the first medic said, with frustration.

Scout listened intently to their voices. They were like any other medic, and he was sure he could not really tell the difference between the medics, aside from the one that originally came from the Rebel army. However, he felt like these were the same guys that typically worked in this same lab space as the medic. These were the guys he saw most everyday.

“It’s not going to be much longer,” the second said, “We just have to put up with him a little longer. Number five said they’re close to ready with their preparations.”

“At this point, I couldn’t care!” the first responded, with exasperation in his voice.

Scout peered around the corner warily. He was glad to see that their backs were facing the entrance. They were not even paying attention to their surroundings. It helped that they had no experience of battle. It made them very unwary and moronic about what was going on around them.

“If he doesn’t go soon, I’m going to kill him!” the first said, with frustration in his voice.

“I know, I know,” the other was gently patting his back, trying to calm him down, “But you can’t kill him. Besides, what would forty six say?”

“Ugh,” the first medic’s shoulders sagged with frustration, “I couldn’t care what forty six has to say!”

“He’s still our superior,” the second responded, still patting his back.

“And what about their preparations?” the first medic asked, in a growl.

“It should be ready soon enough,” the second medic responded, “Once they’re ready, we won’t see him ever again. Likely for good.”

“ _Likely_ for good?” the first asked, with a suspicious tone of voice.

The second medic chuckled, “Let’s hope he’s dead by the end of it.”

They both chuckled over this, shaking their heads. They seemed to be sharing a moment of comradery. Anybody could probably walk right past them without them noticing at this point, so entirely involved in their own conversing as they were.

Scout decided that this was the perfect time to get away from this little bubble. If he was to take a chance, now was it. Especially with the medic being asleep, he needed to take this chance to just get away from the medics.

He tiptoed carefully from hiding, moving behind them carefully. He aimed for the hallway, cautious not to let them know he was there. His heart stopped for a moment as some other medic passed by, he did not seem to be paying attention to his surroundings though, reading a clipboard’s notes as he walked and everything.

When he was clear of the two medics, he sprinted down the hallway. He would deal with the problem behind him later. He would deal with that medic at another time. He would tell him about what they were planning to do later. Right now, he would need to deal with the threat of the other mercenaries in the Collective Nations Military.

Surprisingly, hardly anybody noticed him. None of them stopped him either. They just saw his uniform, a standard uniform for scouts of the Collective Nations Military. They did not seem to know he was any different, and he was fine with that.

That all came to a halt when he came upon another scout. Nothing was said at first. He just kind of tried to step around the other scout. But, the other scout was not interested in awkwardly moving on with his day the way **he** was. Every time he tried to step around the other, he side stepped, moving right into his way.

“Do you mind?” he finally spat.

“I do mind,” the other said, with something that was almost a snarl on his face.

“I’m just trying to walk here,” he responded, taking half a step back to reassess his chances of getting around the other. Maybe he could make a faux step and then dart around him.

“You shouldn’t even _be_ here,” the other said pointedly.

“No, but here I am,” he said, with a jesting tone of voice.

“No, I mean you shouldn’t even be here!” the other poked him in the chest with an index finger.

He frowned, “I’m not going to cause you any trouble. I’m not here to cause any trouble anyways.”

In spite of his insistence, the other scout just seemed too persistent, “Collective Nations Militants don’t take well to filthy Rebels.”

“I was only a Rebel because of the cloning vat I happened to come from,” he said pointedly, “And you’re just a Collective Nations junkie or whatever because of the cloning vat you ended up coming from.”

“You wanna say that one more time?” the other rolled his sleeve up, obviously prepping for a fight.

“What? You wanna go?” he asked, ready to throw down. There was no way he was backing down to some asshole who wanted to push peoples’ buttons without any reason for it.

“If you’re going to throw fights, then let’s throw down!” the other scout came a bit closer into his space.

He chuckled a bit, pushing up his sleeves, ready to go fist to cuffs with this guy. They were well within the same weight class. There were no unfair elements to this, so there was no reason to hold back against the twerp.

“You’re not going to pit fists to fists with this guy, are you?” a familiar Australian voice cut them off.

They both turned to see a sniper approaching. Scout certainly did not know this sniper. So, when he realized that the other scout did not seem to know him either, he felt more than a little confused. How bizarre.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” the other scout quipped.

“Nice try,” the sniper put in, “I know what you two are up to. Knock it off.”

“Tell me what to do again,” the other scout said, with a delightedly demented smirk, “Tell me _one_ more time.”

“Shut up,” the sniper said, with a calm tone. There was something so calm about his attitude that suddenly sucked scout in. He just did not even care about the scout’s immediate aggressive response. “Hey you, newbie,” he motioned to **him** and kept walking past them.

He barely hesitated, sharing a look of confusion with the other scout. He stepped on past the other scout, strolling after the sniper. It was mostly out of the curiosity of the sniper. He had thought that maybe he would meet up with a better scout, an agreeable scout who would talk with him the way he used to talk with the other scouts back at the Rebel of the People’s Democracy Military.

“Hey! Hey!” he called after the sniper, as he rushed to meet his stride.

The sniper looked at him, so calm and laid back. It left him feeling stumped, bewildered that the man did not seem affected by him being a scout, or being from the other military. He felt drawn to this guy. He just had to know what his deal was, not sure how he could be so laid back and calm.

“Yea?” the guy asked. Even his voice seemed so laid back, like he just did not have a care in the world.

“You…uh…y-you…” scout could not formulate a sentence out of his thoughts. He just sort of lost his thoughts.

“Ah, don’t mind the scouts here,” he said, as if trying to assure him.

“You…don’t seem anything like other snipers,” he said.

“Not all snipers are the same,” the sniper replied.

“Not all scouts are the same either,” he said, thoughtfully.

“See?” the sniper said, with a pointed chuckle, “We’re all clones of somebody, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t our own person.”

“I…uh…I guess I see,” he said.

He wished he could formulate a more cognitive thought about this. This was something he had thought a lot about, but now this cool laid back guy brought up this concept and he could not seem to formulate a proper thought about it. He had so much to say on this, but he could only stammer about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, let's clarify:  
> 1) Medic is an asshole.  
> 2) Scout is smarter than he is credited for.  
> 3) Snipers are secret manipulators behind the scenes. Also we've seen this particular sniper before.


	14. The Sniper and the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sniper gives medic and scout a rundown of just how fucked they are, and offers an alternative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I offer to you a new character, a voice of reason.

Medic roused to find that scout had disappeared. Panic struck him as his mind spun. The restless mercenary could have run off in an attempt to take himself for a run. The medics could have gotten fed up with scout and decided to string him up by his intestines. Whatever the case, he had to go find the scout before something actually went wrong with him.

He snatched up a medigun and stomped out of the laboratory. After a brief check around where the other medics were, he charged off through the base. He would start with the outside area.

He searched for several hours, only to turn up empty handed. The scout was nowhere to be found outside. If his hunch was to be believed about the scouts of this team, then he was not blending in with them either. Surely, especially after the maxed electrocution of earlier, the scout would have at least obtained some sort of collar marking. If not a tan line from how long he had it on, then a burn mark from the events of earlier.

He expanded his search, moving around the different groups of scouts. He scanned over them easily, searching for signs of collars on each of them. It was fairly easy, given the high temperatures outside prevented them from wearing too many layers, so none of them were wearing scarves.

That left him with no scout though. Worried, and more than a little frustrated, he started to fret that scout might have left the base entirely. What if he tried to walk across the expanse of the desert, alone and without any supplies? Would he really be that stupid to think that he could just walk up to their old base and try to make friends?

The stupidity of that idea had not fazed the scout before, so he doubted it would faze him again. If he thought his first failed attempt had had some flaws, maybe the idiot would try for a more direct approach. Perhaps he would even think that the whole debacle was because of war induced adrenaline.

He made his way through the base. There was no way he was going after scout. Maybe if he went out just a little ways he could find him. But, there was no way that he was going to be as stupid as to try to trek across the desert sands.

He looked out a window, feeling the pressure and worry wear on his mind. Somewhere out there was a stupid scout who thought he could go back to the place he used to call home. And somewhere out there, he was not yet realizing just how stupid his idea was.

Medic did not **need** any reminders about the desert. He had spent a night hiding under a building. That had been enough warning to his mind that he needed to stay away from the desert, with its waterless and lifeless efforts to consume all life that dared to try and survive in it.

The reality that they were alive, two militias full of grown men, in this waste land was something of an amazement in and of itself. However, that could be explained away by the consistent deliveries of supplies, especially water and food. The things they needed to survive were readily provided to them, so there was no questioning their survival, as long as they stayed within the bounds of their military.

Given medic was no longer with his previous military, he wondered what that actually meant for him. Since accepting him amidst their group, the medics here had seemed quite daunted by his presence, yet accepting that he required the same amount in rations and necessities as they did. They gave him a bed to sleep in, food to eat and water to drink. And when he demanded to keep the scout, they provided enough for that youthful idiot too, if begrudgingly.

“Hello, mate,” a sniper waved at him.

He was stumped for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Snipers, even in this military, did not cross over with the medic class. They seemed resigned to stick amidst their own, and with the demomen and soldiers. There was not a lot of room for socializing with medics anyways, given they stuck to their own class.

Whatever this man was trying to pull, medic was not interested in it. He was on a mission to find a scout, not a sniper. He needed to find that dumbass scout too, before he did something so stupid as to get himself killed. And given that he might have wandered out into the desert, he was starting to worry that he might already be half dead.

“Oy! Mate!” the sniper called to him, as he tried to dodge the man.

“What do you want?” he growled, irritatedly. The man came to face him, showing that he was taller by at least two or three inches. “I am very busy at the moment! I would appreciate it if you would _go away_!”

The sniper was smiling a little, as if this was humorous. That was weird. That was definitely not the reaction he was going for. Then again, he never really paid attention to how the other medics interacted with the other classes here. So, while the other classes back at the Rebel base would have responded accordingly, the men here might well be used to the chubby and soft medics that seemed to plague this place with their laziness.

“What?!” he raised his voice with frustration.

“I found something you might wanna see,” the sniper threw his thumb at a set of stairs.

Medic hesitated. There was no telling what he meant for certain. This could be a prank or joke that the snipers were going to pull. And if that was the case, he wanted nothing to do with it. It was bad enough that he had wandered so far from the medics’ territory, he could be looking at a spy in disguise.

“You’re lookin’ for something,” the sniper said, as if trying to entice him, “I know where it is.”

He glared the sniper down, “I don’t have time for your head games. If you want something, then ask for it. Otherwise, I don’t have time for you.”

“No, see,” the sniper moved to stay in his way, refuting his efforts to sidestep him, “I know what you’re looking for. I know who you’re looking for.” He threw his thumb at the steps again.

Medic looked at the steps hesitantly. Why would scout be up a flight of steps? Why would scout even trust a sniper? He would be more likely to try and associate with other scouts instead.

“I’ll show ya,” the sniper insisted.

“I don’t like you,” medic stated, tightening his glare.

“That’s fine,” the sniper said, completely unaffected by his attitude, “You don’t have to like me. You just have to come upstairs and see him.”

Medic tightened his lips, watching as the sniper turned and headed casually up the stairs. He was so nonchalant that it was making him feel livid. Everything about this man was off-putting, in a calm sense. Why was he so damn calm?

Hesitant, but with a growing sense of curiosity for whatever the hell this sniper was up to, he followed him up the stairs towards a dimly lit attic area. There, he found a whole nest of snipers. Most of them were just hanging around the makeshift tables made of wire spools that had been emptied of the heavy barbed wire. Some of them hung around the windows, the only sources of light in this dingy area. None of them paid any mind to the newcomers though, completely divulging in the conversations they were having, or otherwise focused on something at the other end of their sniper scopes.

The sniper motioned with a come hither gesture. Medic hesitated, taking in the scenery with a sense of wariness. Why was the sniper taking him through the snipers’ hangout? He could only guess that it was because the sniper himself spent his time up there, but surely a scout would not be up here.

He just about ate his words in the next moment. As he turned he was stunned to see a scout hanging out in a small group of snipers. He was relaxed, with his back against a window frame, and a small hand of cards in one wrapped hand. He was in the middle of talking to the snipers when he looked up and saw the medic.

The scrawny scout was so out of place that he was hard to miss. Added that he was still wearing the collar, medic could not doubt it. He should have been livid, but as realization hit him that scout was not out in the desert getting himself into trouble or getting killed, a wave of relief came over him. He could not believe just how much relief he felt. It was so much that he wanted to sit down.

“Told ya,” the sniper who brought him here said, with an amused smile.

“Aww! What’d you bring _him_ up here for?!” scout exclaimed.

“It’s your turn, scrawny,” one of the other snipers playing the card game said, scratching at a beard.

“What the hell are _you_ doing up _here_?!” medic slamed his hands on their table. The snipers seemed weirdly unaffected by this.

“It was boring, and your ass fell asleep,” scout pointed at him, before laying a couple of cards on the table.

“Aww piss,” one of the snipers threw his cards down in defeat.

“Read ‘em and weep,” another sniper laid his cards down, with a triumphant smile.

Medic did not understand their game, but figured that meant the other sniper had won the match. He was not giving him the time of day to actually make any sense of it though, keeping his attention on the scout. He was furious with him, after all.

“At least the snipers know how to have a bit of fun,” the scout said, “ _And_ they’re not huge assholes!”

“I am to assume that is directed at me?” the medic glared down at the scout.

Scout snapped his fingers, giving him a thumbs up, “Bingo!”

Medic felt his face grow red hot with outrage. His fists clenched and he was ready to pick the scout up by his collar and beat the shit out of him. That was, until he remembered that there was a shock control on the collar. All he had to do was press a button on the remote and the younger mercenary would be screaming in pain.

“Keeping at it like this is not helping,” the sniper who brought him up here intervened.

“You stay out of this!” the medic rounded on him angrily.

“I think I should meddle,” the sniper said calmly, though he did raise his hands defensively at medic’s fierce outburst of rage.

“Don’t meddle!” medic growled angrily, “Stay out of this!”

“Nah, you should totally meddle!” the scout said, tauntingly, “It’s funny to see him like this.”

“You’re not helping either, mate,” the sniper told the scout pointedly.

“You two gonna have a tussle?” one of the other snipers asked. They all looked ready to get up from where they were sitting to start throwing punches.

“Nah,” the sniper who brought him up here, calmed them all right down with that simple word. He gestured to scout, who looked up at him with surprise. “Scout, come on.”

Medic was amazed to see such obedience, and without any questions asked, from the scout. He just got right up and followed the sniper, who gestured for medic to follow too. Unsure of whether to be impressed or not, medic followed in stunned silence.

They stopped in a secluded area of the attic. It was dimmer here, so there were not so many snipers in this area. It was possibly the best area for discussion.

“Neither of you is helping with nothing,” the sniper said pointedly. He gestured to each of them in turn. “Temper issues,” he gestured from the medic to the scout, “and a great lack of teamwork.”

“You’ve gotta be a team to work,” scout scoffed, folding his arms over his chest with a stubborn look about him.

“I’ll show you what works!” medic snatched the remote from his pocket, ready to activate it. Mostly he wanted to show it to the scout and warn him that his temper was about to cause him to turn the collar on him. It worked a bit too, as the scout’s face filled with panic.

The rest of his words were snatched from his mouth, as the sniper grabbed his remote. He blinked at his hand then at the remote in the sniper’s hand. The man did not even seem to have a reaction to any of this. He just sort of snatched it up so quickly that the medic had not seen it coming.

“Give that back!” medic turned on the sniper.

“I ain’t giving it back,” the sniper protested, “Not until you take the collar off of the scout.”

“What?” he looked at the scout with a scoff. It was not like anybody else could not take the collar off of him.

“Take the collar off,” the sniper instructed.

“No!” medic spat.

“Fine,” the sniper walked over to a window and calmly chucked the remote.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You filthy idiot!” medic screamed, rushing the window to see if he could spot where the remote landed.

The scout thought this was absolutely hilarious. He was holding his sides because of how hard he was laughing. He could not stop himself, unable to control the laughter that bubbled up from weeks of wanting to get back at the medic somehow.

“I don’t need a collar to beat the shit out of you!” medic growled, turning to the scout. That shut the scout up rather quickly.

“Nah mate,” the sniper reached out and grabbed the medic’s shoulder.

“Let go of me!” medic shook his hand off, growing more frustrated.

“You are teammates,” the sniper said, nonchalantly, “You should act like it.”

“The time that I’ll be called teammates with a scout will be when I suffer a burnout from a fever!” medic declared.

“Yea, same here!” scout said, defiantly.

“Alright, I see I am approaching this the wrong way,” the sniper pinched the bridge of his nose with frustration.

“No, you shouldn’t have approached this at all!” the medic raised his voice at the man, “You shouldn’t have meddled!”

“No, he totally is in his right to meddle,” the scout argued.

“You shut up!” medic barked at him.

It seemed that his frustration was only meant to grow though. The sniper reached over and put a hand on each of their shoulders. His fingers squeezed, as if reminding them that his hands were there.

“Look,” sniper seemed to be trying to draw them into some sort of important discussion, “This ain’t about the Collective Nations Military. This ain’t about the Rebellion of the People’s Democracy. This is about the simplest point of interactions. When it comes to interacting, you two have the most unhealthy of relations.”

“That’s because he’s an annoying little shit,” the medic growled, trying to shake the sniper’s hand off again, “And a scout!”

“Yea? Well, good luck with the fucking chances that you’ll be one of these loser medics! They’re opting to kill ya!” scout spat.

“What?” medic felt a little stumped.

That seemed a little too quickly put for the scout to have come up with that on his own. For it to be a lie, the scout would have had to brood on such an idea. It was possible that he could have been sitting on it, to stir up some sort of paranoia in the old medic. But, what would he gain from it in this instance? Not to mention, how would he think about dropping it at a time like this? He simply was not clever enough or thought out enough to do that in a calculated manner.

“That is an inevitability,” the sniper said.

That had the medic reeling. Even scout seemed to reel, the two of them turning to the taller mercenary. He did not seem the least bit surprised that they did not know, nor did he seem at all presumptuous about it.

“Yes, you should know that the whole base knows,” he told them, “Not that anybody has been talking about it. Just that this isn’t something new. It’s happened before.”

“It’s…happened before?” scout sounded like his mouth was dry.

“The Rebellion of the People’s Democracy Militia hasn’t had enough medics in the past decade for this to happen very often,” medic said, sternly.

“Not with medics,” the sniper shook his head, “We’ve experimented before though. They’ve drawn in demos, soldiers, snipers, even a spy once. Though, that did not end pretty. It was a mercy killing if anything.”

There was a long silence between them. The other snipers seemed very unwary. They were not even alerted to the cues or signs that one of their own was blabbing about very secret occurrences on the base.

“W-why?” scout asked, with fear in his voice.

“And they all died,” the sniper added, “Just to clarify.”

“Yea, but why?” scout pressed, sounding just as scared but more forceful.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the sniper asked.

“How about you stop being cryptic and explain,” the medic said firmly. He wished he had a saw or something on him. Before he wanted to beat this man up, but now he wanted to rip every man here to shreds for thinking they could turn on him.

The sniper sighed, “It’s politics. Wel…our level of politics. We’re just the grunts on the lower end of the spectrum. But, by testing the waters of the murkiness that is our militia identities, we have identified that it does not matter, one way or another, to our superiors whether we betray them or not. It does not matter if we were part of one militia and switched to another, they don’t care. Just as long as we fight.”

“You can’t know that,” scout said, visibly shaking, “We don’t do that! We don’t do that over at the other base! Nobody has even heard of that!”

“True, and that’s because the base number of clones allotted to the resources for the Rebellion of the People’s Democracy has a very low number. The Collective Nations Military has a very high standard at its baseline, having a broader access to resources that create clones,” the sniper said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“This is the kind of stuff that sounds like a medic or an engineer should know,” the scout turned to the medic.

Medic shook his head, “This seems awfully political, and above our heads.”

“Nah,” the sniper shrugged, “Not if you look into it. They expect us to fall into the lines that were drawn out for us. We do follow them, and so we do the same things as they expect us to. Just as when you switched over from the Rebellion to the Collective Nations, you just fell into the same routine of what you would do. You did what they expected you to do.”

“Holy shit!” scout ran his hands up into his hair, “Are they like mind reading us or something? Are they like controlling us with brain waves or something? Can they hear our thoughts?”

“Nah,” sniper chuckled at him.

“This is all just heresy and speculation,” medic growled with contempt.

“True,” the sniper shrugged, “But you cannot deny its points. Nothing has occurred to change the routine. Nothing has disturbed the way you would behave here. And nothing has shown that anybody outside of these ranks even notices or cares that you are around, being cloned for the Rebels and suddenly working here. They don’t care. In fact, they would not care if you disappeared from here and ended up back over there.”

“How can you be so sure of that?” scout asked, warily. Maybe he was actually trying to use his brain in this situation.

“Because I’ve looked at the documentation,” the sniper explained, “I’ve looked at how they record us. The record keeping on their end ends when we leave the cloning facility. They don’t care about our ranks. Those numbers assigned to us? They’re not assigned to us, they’re what we made of our situation. And with the continuation of older and superior officers, we continued the same cycles as those who came before us.”

“It’s a bunch of bullshit!” the scout exclaimed, running his fingers through his hair.

“Calm down, scout,” the medic said, calmly, “I’m sure there is more to it than that.”

“Ah yea, sure there is,” the sniper nodded.

There was a brief pause, wherein the medic had assumed he would share. He sighed when he realized that the sniper was in fact not going to say anything. “Care to enlighten us as to the reasoning?” he asked.

The sniper chuckled, “The war ended…like years ago. Maybe even before all of us. We’re just kept going by the sheer will of the Collective Nations to keep the people looking at something.”

“The people? Looking at something?” scout looked so stressed out that medic was not sure he was not going to fall over.

“Scout, sit down,” he said, taking the youth by the shoulders and directing him toward the floor. After the scout was situated there, seated firmly on the floor, he turned back to the sniper. All of this seemed rather speculative after all. “How can we trust you? You say you looked at this or that. But, how can we trust you?”

“You can just not,” the sniper shrugged, “Doesn’t bother me either way.”

“Then why are you telling us?!” the scout exclaimed.

The sniper rocked back and forth on his heels, “Pretty sickening to watch – day in and day out – as various mercenaries just kinda fall into line. They pretend and pretend. And then, to clear the books, or have a little fun, they’re tricked into lining up for the gunmen, and they’re shot down like jackrabbits.”

“And everybody knows about it,” scout breathed. Medic looked at him with worry, seeing as he was rocking back and forth.

“Calm down,” medic snapped at him, “ _You_ knew they were going to kill me. Didn’t you?”

“Yea, but that was news to me today!” scout exclaimed with a touch of frustration in his voice, “I didn’t realize it was this big base-wide conspiracy or anything! And think of the implications. What if somebody at our base decided to do something like that? What if we tried to bring people in? And then when we got bored of them…we just…sort of…offed them! Who would agree to that?!”

“It’s a lot easier to agree to it than you would think,” sniper added.

“Shush, this isn’t about you,” medic snapped at him.

“No seriously, think about it!” scout pressed.

“I don’t actually want to,” the medic shook his head. The implications of any of this was brutal on its own, but applying it back to their base was a bit frustrating to attempt. Mostly because the stress of paranoia with the spy and dealing with pestering other classes was bad enough.

“I’ve thought over it myself,” the sniper put in.

“Y-yea? And what do you think of it? I mean…this is sick right? You don’t actually _agree_ with this, right?” scout asked, with such hope in his tone that medic almost laughed.

“Nah,” the sniper responded, “It’s been pretty dumb, when you think about it. We’re just shooting at each other. We pretend that we are the opposition on one side or another. But the truth is that we’re just working for cameras. And the closer we are to the cameras, the better it is for those in the higher chairs. We’re not fighting a war, we’re dancing a bloody opera for them. We work for their strings, doing the same routes over and over, pretending that it is all new. And with what? The same faces. The same names. The same ideas, but a sense that we are somehow in opposition.”

“But, I am nothing like other scouts!” scout put in.

“Save it scout,” medic hissed, with irritation.

“No! You save it!” scout spat with outrage. He leaped to his feet and poked medic in the chest. “How many times have _you_ been compared to other medics? Been told that you were basically the same face? The same name? The same guy? I’ll bet you’re not though. You’re a hell of a lot different from any of the pudgy fat fucks here! And I’m not like the guys here either! Joke all you want! Say what you want! I’m different! I choose to continue being different! And I won’t let anybody tell me I can’t be different!”

“This is what I am saying,” sniper put in, “If we’re different then we have to be different. We cannot keep fighting as the _same guy_ if the truth is that we are not the same.”

“That did not connect to anything you said before,” medic argued.

“Doesn’t matter,” sniper said, with a harsh clip to his tone this time.

“Sooo…what then?” scout looked from the medic to the sniper and back, “That’s it then? We’re dead? It’s over?”

“The hell it is!” medic growled.

“Don’t go stirring up trouble, mate,” the sniper said, sternly, “A dead man’s worth nothing in a plan.”

“Plan?” scout spun to face sniper so fast he almost lost balance, “What plan?”

“Oh delightful,” medic sighed and rolled his eyes. He wondered how this would be though.

“Can’t rightly do it on my own,” the sniper explained, “And unlike most of you idiots, I don’t presume that my class is somehow above the rest.”

“Hey now! I don’t presume anything!” scout exclaimed, “That’s medic’s thing!”

“I didn’t- you- I- shut up!” medic stammered. He was not so presumptuous as to think that medics were somehow above others. He just found other classes to be irritating to deal with for the most part.

Then again, looking back on the old days, he used to enjoy spending time with that one heavy weapons guy. Thinking about it, he missed those games of chess. It was never about the actual game or winning, it was about the company and the conversation. As limited as the big man’s intelligence was for planning and scheming, he was plentiful in the way of conversation and understanding how to make the doctor feel better in some situations.

It was disheartening to think that until now he had forgotten about the man. Big strong hands that held the chess pieces so daintily. A broad smile that often made his day, just for the sake of having company that would not irritate the fuck out of him. And a big deep voice that tended to rumble over anything and everything the medic said.

He used to have a friend. He missed that. He missed having a friend who was there for him, somebody to talk to and share rounds of chess with. Somebody who understood him to some degree, and shared enthusiasm when it was needed.

He became a third wheel in the conversation. He remained silent, not wanting to be a part of the social situation anymore. He wanted to fade away, to sink into the dark solitude that was his reality. He wanted to wallow in the self-pity from his realization of how truly alone he was in this place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay sniper, you can stop being cryptic. The hell is the plan?
> 
> This feeling that medic is feeling, it's something familiar to me. When you realize that you have left your last true friend behind somewhere and you likely can never get them back, it's disheartening.
> 
> It's okay medic, you're gonna be okay.


	15. Scout Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout thinks over everything.

Almost overnight something had changed. Scout had assumed that the medic would get angry and start stomping around like an asshole. Surely he would have been threatening people with their lives on sticks.

Instead, he was moping about. It was as if he suddenly hit rock bottom. He did not even snap at scout when he got on his nerves, he just ignored the sound of scout’s voice when it got to be too much. He should have been stomping around being angry at the other medics.

Scout sat where he could study the medic. Nearby, out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other medics. They mostly kept to themselves, as per the usual, but they seemed a bit suspicious of this medic’s sudden change of attitude. It was definitely out of place for him to be in such a low mood.

When they cycled out of the laboratory, leaving the two of them alone, he leaned close to the medic. “Hey, look man. I don’t like you and I know you don’t like me,” scout said quietly, hoping that none of the medics walked in to overhear him talking, “But, those guys are getting suspicious of you. You have to keep up appearances. Alright? For both of us. Can you manage that?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” medic moaned.

“Don’t act freaking stupid!” Scout threw his hands in the air and kicked his legs out from his seat.

“You’re the one who is stupid,” the medic replied, with irritation.

“No! I mean, you’re acting weird! You’re putting everything all off. They’re going to suspect that something’s up,” scout said, with concern.

“Oh so concerned,” the medic rolled his eyes and leaned forward over his desk, pretending to pour himself over the thing he was supposedly reading before.

Scout could tell that something was off though. This was not how the medic behaved in normal circumstances. Was it maybe that he thought the other medics actually liked him or something?

“You’ve never been a popular guy, even with the other medics,” scout tried to explain.

“I’ve never cared for that,” medic immediately protested.

“You arguing a bit much, doc,” scout said pointedly.

The medic sighed and rose from his seat, “Let’s go outside. There’s too much noise in here.”

Scout followed without a word. Going outside meant he got to stretch his legs out, something the medic was not keen on remembering to do. And given how highly he thought of himself, he never liked to be reminded to do certain things. He especially did not like it if it was a complaint of the situation from Scout.

When they stepped outside, the medic immediately went for a seat on some hunk of junk laying around. He was dismissive of the scout as he took off his shirt and began to run. He dismissed the medic from his mind, shutting out the argument from before and all the thoughts that came with it.

He focused on the red sand beneath his sneakers, as his feet pounded against the pavement-hard turf. It felt like a release of sorts, even if it was not comfortable. It definitely freed scout up from the feeling of being trapped and locked up inside.

“It’s better out here,” he told himself in a soft voice.

The sun beating down was arguing with his skin though. He did not have any lotion like the sunscreen they had in Boston. If he kept thinking back hard enough, he could remember how his ma used to scorn him.

“Yea ma, I remembered sunscreen,” he muttered and then chuckled to himself, mostly for the nostalgia of remembering her voice.

Remembering her now was no different than all the times he remembered her before. But, as he looked up at the blue sky and came to a halt, so far from the base, he felt a lump in his throat. Not being the real Skeeter did not matter. Not being the only clone of Skeeter did not matter. He remembered her, and he missed her.

 

After a while, he shook himself out of his memories. He did not necessarily need focus, and medic could certainly use the exercise of coming out here to get him. However, he did not feel like dealing with the medic while he was frustrated. So, he decided to head back, moving a bit slower now as his mind wanted to go back to his mom.

That sentiment of home was still stuck in his mind when he approached the medic. It seemed the man was also distracted, with a fretful look on his face. He thought about talking to him, but remembered that that never went well. He shrugged off the thought and turned to run the same lap he took before.

When he came back around, medic was pinching the bridge of his nose. That was rarely a good sign. Considering scout was not there to argue with him on anything, that meant there was something else going on in the vicinity.

“What did I miss?” he asked.

The medic looked up, surprised at his presence. He must not have heard his footsteps or his labored panting. He felt rather out of shape, after so long of not running and dodging bullets in battles.

“Ah, I need to clear my head,” medic said, “Please just leave me.”

“Okay,” scout shrugged and headed off on the lap again.

When he came back, medic was rubbing his face. He seemed to be flustered and frustrated. He was muttering something to himself in German. Scout had almost thought the man had forgotten the language, or somehow pushed it from his mind, given how little he used it. All of this hinting at something troubling him.

Scout thought back on everything that happened. If it was true that he really did not care if the other medics liked him, or that they were going to off him like a turkey, then he must have been thinking about the plan. Or maybe, he was just beating himself up for not knowing sooner that this would all come to pass.

Scout wiped the smug smirk off of his face as he cleared his throat. He did not really like the medic, but the guy seemed like he was in a troubling spot. And given he had no friends around, it seemed like it was up to scout. It was probably best that there was nobody else around too.

“Say uh…you wanna go for a run?” scout offered.

“No,” medic covered his eyes with a hand, “Please go away.”

“I mean, you said you wanted to clear your head,” scout explained, hastily, “And running helps _me_ clear my head.”

“You’re a runner,” medic growled, “Of course it clears your head!”

Scout took his frustration as time to leave. He snatched up his shirt, deciding to use it like a towel, as he jogged another long lap. This time, however, he took a different route, moving out farther than he did before. Medic did not seem to mind, or at least he did not notice.

When he came back, medic had his hands clasped together between his knees as he stared at the ground, hunched over like a man carrying a burden. It seemed rather strange to him. He just looked so _tired_ all of a sudden.

“Hey uh…I know you don’t like me…and you don’t wanna talk about it…” scout interrupted the medic’s thoughts. This brought a glare, as the man barely raised his head so he could see the scout through his round lensed glasses. He ignored the glare as he kept going, “I ain’t blind or nothing. I can see that something’s troubling you. Why don’t you try something other than sitting there and making yourself fret over it?”

Medic suddenly rose from his seat. It caused scout to flinch, as the sudden movement hinted that he might attack. He watched as he turned instead, heading to the door.

“I’ll be right back,” medic said, with a farewell gesture, a small wave.

“What?” scout was surprised at the sudden change and started to follow him.

“Just…keep running,” medic said, “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Okay um…” scout stopped and watched him go through the door, “Where are you going?”

“I need to take a piss,” was the curt reply before the door swung shut behind him.

Scout turned and did as he had been told. He started running, taking his new long route. Medic was not out here to watch him anyways. He could run wherever he want, as fast as he wanted, and as far away from that base as he wanted. Of course, running _too_ far had its consequences, given that this was a desert after all. If he chose to take his chances out here, he would be hard pressed to find food and shelter before nightfall.

He did not plan on trying to escape anyways. No, they had a far better plan for that, and apparently would team up with others to do it. The Sniper was definitely interested in getting out, and he seemed like he knew what he was doing, planning out what they would do and how they would do it as a team. He was interested in the whole group’s survival, and that was both interesting and useful to scout.

The sniper was not a bad guy either. Scout never really got along with snipers before this. Most of them tended to take cheap shots at scouts, sending them a message that there was animosity between them, and if they fucked with the snipers, they were going to have a lot of trouble.

He remembered what Chester used to say, _“Listen guys, most classes won’t bother you. Sure they’ll harass you, and they will poke fun in any way they can. That’s open invitation for public humiliation, after all. But, always remember that the snipers? Those assholes will always go for the kill. They don’t have any cheap shots, just a scope and a will to make sure a bullet goes between your eyes.”_

He remembered those words well enough. But, they did not seem like they applied to this sniper. This guy seemed alright, almost as if he would not hurt a fly.

There was something refreshing about him. It made scout’s skin tingle just thinking about him. He wondered whether that meant they were kindred spirits or something. He wondered if the sniper felt the same.

He smiled to himself, as he slowed his steps. Medic might be back soon, but he wanted to treasure thinking about the sniper for a little longer. That tingling feeling felt very good, very refreshing.

With wild bushman eyebrows hanging over a seat of yellow tinted aviators, there was something mysterious about the sniping professional. He had a calm demeanor, like nothing anybody said could move him. Not even the medic’s griping and moaning and overall being a stupid asshole could make the sniper budge. In fact, he just sort of laughed off the medic’s behavior.

“He’s a good guy,” he told himself with a nod and a smile.

It was more than that though. The guy had a sort of cunning to him, laying beneath layers of niceness. It was the kind of cunning one would expect from a Spy, but somehow it was so much more fascinating. Perhaps because it was specifically meant to benefit others. He was not out to kill anybody with a backstab or a clever disguise. Nay, the sniper had genuine feelings and scout liked that.

Scout always like genuine people. In fact, **Skeeter** used to like genuine people. He would surround himself with the kind of friends who were genuine with their feelings and genuine about who they were. That was why so many friends got kicked out the door, in favor of his brothers, who were always open and genuine with him. There was no lie between Skeeter and his brothers.

Genuine feelings. Genuine people. Genuine everything. Scout stopped out in the middle of the desert, breathing in the smell of burnt sand. It felt great, just knowing that there was somebody genuine here. It might not be his brothers, but maybe he could strike up something that drew him closer to the sniper.

He closed his eyes and put his hands behind his head. This day felt nice. He had a new friend, medic was not himself but it would be alright, and they were going to leave this place. There was something to be said about happy endings, and he could see his just around the corner.

He finally turned and headed back towards the base, he figured the medic was waiting for him by now. A piss did not take that long. That was, unless you were a sniper. The thought made him laugh out loud to himself.

As he thought more about it, by far the best trait he liked about this sniper was that he seemed to identify him and the medic as being inherently different from the other mercenaries. They were not the same as their clones, they did not blend in.

He frowned and came to a halt when he realized that it could just be that they were two mercenaries from the other team. Though if this happened as often as the sniper claimed, why would he pay so much attention to it? Then again, maybe the sniper was keen to paying attention to who was originally part of the Collective Nations Military, and who was from the Rebellion of the People’s Democracy.

He decided that it was best not to worry though. Why fret? Sniper was just there to help them, after all.

Sure, the sniper would be helping himself through all of this. But, what smart mercenary would not help himself in such a situation? Scout certainly believed that if given the chance he would take the opportunity to help himself. And if he helped others in the process, he would just feel good about it.

Then there was medic. There was certainly nothing likable about him. He had no redeeming traits that scout could ever see. He never seemed truly genuine, and always had a bad temper. He pushed people away all of the time. That was why, he would never ever do for somebody else. He would let this opportunity slip away from him, if it did not strongly benefit him.

Then again, if there was not the looming threat of death, who knows if the benefits would be considered enough? Added that he had been working on some sort of project, with scout as his guinea pig, he would probably hold scout back. That thought was a bit terrifying.

He touched the collar on his neck, a constant reminder that he was nothing more than a test subject to the medic. It was there so much that he had forgotten its existence. That was hard to digest on its own. There was nothing genuine to trust about medic. Medic openly hated people, and was getting targeted by people just like him, and he _still_ could not give a shit. He was all around a bad guy. There was just no trusting a guy like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sniper good. Medic bad. This could be bad for the dynamic.
> 
> For those not following the comments, Scout is street smart. This clone is especially keen to others and how they are thinking, feeling and behaving. It makes it easier for him to clue into what other people are up to, but does not necessarily make him right in his judgments.  
> The medic on the other hand is intelligent. Being human though, he is prone to making mistakes and miscalculations, especially with the factor of people involved.
> 
> Being as they are clones, those memories are not really their own experiences. They are just programmed into their brains before they emerge fully grown. He is not the real Skeeter, and every scout clone has those same memories, but every one of them uses them differently.


	16. Isolated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic feels more isolated than ever before.

The lingering depression over realizing that he no longer had his old friend was frustrating medic. He tried to push it away, but it just returned and it drew more thoughts. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he would never quite fit in with these medics, this was just a temporary situation, and he had forgotten about the _temporary_ format of it.

This was not supposed to be a permanent situation. However, no which way he put it could free him from this prison. There was no going back to where he was. How he managed to last this long at the enemy base was beyond him. Dumb luck maybe.

He would just have to go with the sniper’s plan. He did not like the idea, but it was at least something. He did not trust the man either, but he had no other way to turn. If he did not take a risk on the sniper, he would most definitely die.

The worst part of it was that he had taken his own risk on the Scout, in hopes that it would change the course of what would happen. He was worried it may have been a mistake. With a tongue that could run farther than his legs could, the scout was apt to tell everybody everything.

It was hard to think of the experiment as anything but a bluff anymore. That was all it was in the first place. He had hoped to lead the other medics by the nose. However, it just seemed like the thing was like a piece of jewelry more than anything. He was not even sure an electric shock would garter the same reaction anymore. He did not even remember when he last used it on the scout. Was it yesterday? Or was it weeks ago?

“What’s wrong with you anyways?” he heard the scout’s voice. He glanced sideways to see that the younger mercenary had found him. “You’re just up and acting weird now!” scout exclaimed with frustration.

He gave the scout a glare, “Stop.”

“What? Stop what? What do you want me to stop doing?” scout demanded.

“Just stop,” medic raised a hand to him, hoping he would take the gesture and calm down.

“ _You_ stop!” Scout exclaimed, “You’re acting all weird! It’s not okay. It’s not healthy.”

“Just…stop,” medic had no energy to put into trying, be it to punish scout or force him to be silent.

“Look…doc…” the scout stepped out in front of him and forced him to look him in the eye, “I get it. You don’t like me. I’m a scout. You’re a medic…and you got…like…things going on with medics. Listen though…I need you to focus. Like, do your usual thing.”

“What usual thing?” medic growled, growing irritated with the choppy way in which the scout spoke.

“You know! Act freaking normal! I mean, you’re not normal…even these medics here act more normal than your normal, but like…you gotta not stick out so bad! You know?” the scout rambled.

“You make even less sense than when you started,” medic shook his head.

The scout opened his mouth to speak again, just as a voice caught his attention. He turned to see several medics nearby, “We need your assistance.” There was something haughty in the way the one spoke. It was like he was above all reproach.

“Doc, listen,” the scout tried to call his attention back. He heard him but chose to ignore him. If he was going to blend in and act like himself then he would follow these men, pretend that he knew nothing, and then see what they wanted.

He followed at a clip walk as they made their way through the halls. They were moving quickly, trying to stay ahead of him. It was irritating, but he kept up the pace easily. He was used to running around and chasing down other mercenaries, after all.

“Wait up, medic!” the scout called after them.

One medic turned and yelled, “No scouts!”

He glanced over his shoulder to see the oddly hurt look on the scout’s face. He did stop walking though. He was watching him go though, as if he wanted to run and catch up to him anyways. He quickly turned his attention to the direction he was going. He had to pay attention and make sure he was not walking into a dirty trap.

He came to a small dimly lit room. There were several other medics already there, along with one soldier leaning against a wall. In the middle of the room was a small lean figure, a spy with a burlap sack over his head. There was nothing special about the spy as far as he could see, until they pulled away the sack.

The face looked like any other spy’s face, only it was covered in blood. The clothes were about the same as the average spy, except for what dangled around his neck. He wore that special scarf, the article of clothing that he was known for on the other base. They had captured the only enemy spy.

Bruised eyes rose to look up at him. Recognition hit them and it astounded the medic. He felt rather overwhelmed by this sudden realization, seeing somebody from his old team recognize him. It was not like anything he had experienced in the nine years that he had been alive.

The spy recognized him not just as a medic, but as the one medic from his own team. After months of being gone, having disappeared, he was recognized by one of his own. That feeling brought up more questions than he had already answered. How did the spy recognize _him_ amidst all of these other medics? Why did it feel so good while being so strange? Why did he suddenly feel like this man was more like him than the medics surrounding him?

His mind raced with a hundred or so more questions that he could not answer on the fly. He was left to tangle them up in a mess at the back of his brain. For now he needed to focus on what they were saying to him.

“…and if we hadn’t, he would have cut down the entire population of medics here,” the man speaking sneered and grabbed the spy’s hair, pulling his head back, “An easy murder, isn’t it?”

He stared with disembodied disbelief. It felt as if he was not truly there, that this was all a dream. He tried rubbing his eyes and taking deep breaths, but nothing shook the feeling of being in a waking dream.

“So tell us, do you know this spy?” the medic holding the spy’s hair demanded, turning to him.

“I…” he glanced at the others warily.

He had to consider everything. If he admitted to _knowing_ the spy, he could very well end up with the assumption that he was working with a spy in some way. That would not be very smart. The mere insinuation that he would work with this man in particular made his blood boil. It seemed that this was all the spy’s fault anyways.

“Do you have any association to him?” the man pressed, giving the Spy’s head a shake by jerking his hair around.

He glared at the man, “No, I don’t know him.”

“You don’t?” the man pressed.

“No, I don’t,” he affirmed.

“That’s funny,” the man pulled a knife out of his pocket, “Because this spy here claims that he has been with you the entire time.”

He glared down at the spy. Of course a spy would stupidly claim something like that. Of course he would cause him more trouble. Of course everything fit in with this spy being the cause of all of his troubles.

He met the man’s eye again, “He’s with the Rebellion of the People’s Democracy. That doesn’t mean anything to me. That doesn’t mean I have any association to him.”

“But, he said-” the man started, but he immediately cut him off.

“ _But **nothing**_!” he raised his voice loudly as he interrupted, “He’s a spy. Spies are liars by trade. If you believe the spy’s words, then you are a fool by tenfold!”

The man placed the blade against the spy’s throat, “What about that scout with you?”

There was a moment of silence as he glanced at the others warily. They were all watching intently. They seemed almost too eager for what was happening before them.

“The scout is an experiment,” he explained, “Meant to show control over-”

“No no,” the man waved his knife to cut him off, “Why not use it on an actual trouble maker? Why not use it on somebody we need to control?”

He looked at the spy again. The man had a weird curl to his lip. Was he really smiling? It was a bizarre expression, as he stared straight ahead.

He looked to the man with the knife again, “I have yet to finish the experiment in its beta form with the scout. If I move on to a spy before the tests are finished, then everything will be up in the air and inconclusive.”

The man hesitated before waving the knife at him like a finger, “I’m holding you to all of that.”

“What do you-” he did not get to finish as blood spurted from the spy’s neck.

The knife drew across his throat, purposefully aiming for the artery. The spy started gagging as he drowned in his own blood. He finally dropped to the floor, giving only a few more twitches before he seemed to settle in place.

“Well, that is that,” the man began wiping the blood clean from his knife, “Alright, you can go. I’ll be waiting for the conclusions of your tests. It’s taken this long to work on them.”

He stiffened as he met the man’s eyes. There was something blood thirsty in them. Those eyes burned into his skulls, and he could not get out of there sooner. It was like wanting escape from some demonic hell. Just looking at the man felt like a hellish nightmare.

Something was left boiling at the pit of his gut. He was not entirely sure what it was though. Regret perhaps? No, it could not be that. He never regretted a dead body before, even when it was by his own hands.

Still, something felt off about all of this. Something felt unreal about that experience. He was left feeling strange about the whole thing, while he should not even care about it. It was a spy after all, and he had slaughtered so many in the past. Being _indirectly_ involved should not have affected his perception of this.

He shook off thoughts, trying not to ponder on the matter for too long. He imagined he was just being paranoid. It was probably the stress of being stuck in here, listening to the other medics and beginning to think like them. They were all getting to his head, but in a way that was not making him like them, but a worse version of himself. He needed some heightened experience.

“Hey, doc!” the scout waved when he returned. He was just a little surprised by the younger mercenary’s enthusiastic smile. “What’s up?” he quickly lost his grin, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The medic shook his head, mostly to try and get the image of the spy’s throat opening up out of his head. He looked at the scout for a moment, “Scout, what do you do to clear your head?”

The Scout shrugged, “Go running?”

He nodded and gestured, starting towards the stairs that let out to the back of the base, “Let’s go running.”

 

With only a thin under shirt on his chest, Medic felt like he could finally breathe. It was not the clothes themselves, as they were typically a comfort he was used to. No, it was more like the change in pace was giving him a feeling of relaxation. Removing the lab coat and vest made him feel a little detached from the title of medic, and thus could forget about the other medics for the time being.

Scout slowed his pace to match medic’s stride. He almost told him off, but thought better of it. He just let the other mercenary run next to him.

“Feel any better?” scout asked.

Normally, he would have wanted to push off the scout’s question, but instead he nodded. He did feel better, having a change of perspective and scenery. It felt kind of nice to get out and exercise. Sure, it was not fighting on a battlefield, but it was rather relaxing instead, as there were no killers out to destroy him.

“Good,” scout smiled, and said nothing more.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. They just sort of jogged laps for a while. When he was finally too tired and out of breath to handle anymore running, he limped off to his usual seat for a break. Meanwhile, scout went for another few laps, barely even warmed up after the laps that had the medic too tired to keep going.

He watched the younger mercenary run, his chest barren, as he raced across the sand only to loop back later. He had to admit, there was a nice set of muscles on the man’s body. He even gleamed a bit, sunlight glinting off of the sweat of exercise.

He shook his head, “What am I doing? I have more important things to think about!”

He cleared his throat, mostly to make himself feel better. He straightened up, sitting in a poised position as he took in the sun’s rays and turned his mind to something more important. Sniper’s escape plan required them to work together to bring supplies to a set of trucks that would drive them and several other conspirators away from the base. They would be so far out and so few that nobody would bother to give chase, according to the sniper. If they had any wish to survive the trip across the desert, then they would need more than just food and water.

His mind was going through a list of things that they might need. There were the basic vitamins to keep them healthy during the trip. They might get injured, so they would need spare bandages. He might as well bring a medigun while he was at it. There was no telling what they would come across in the wilderness between them and civilization. Then there was the question of what they would be greeted by at civilization.

He had to think back to times when he was young and thought about going back to civilization. Back when he was given pamphlets to show him that civilization did not want him. He was not to be a part of that place anymore, as he was not one of them. He was a clone, a copy of an original person who was probably already dead.

Perhaps if they had disguises, they could sneak right into civilization. They could blend in and pretend to be normal. They could forge new lives beyond that desert, and try to be normal people with normal smiles.

The thoughts brought his mind to the spy that had been offed earlier. He tried desperately to shake the memory off, but it was clinging to him like water to cloth. He could not help but remember that eerie smile. Why did he smile?

He shuddered and rose to his feet. He did not want to remember that man. He did not want to think about his death. As strange as it was, he did not want to witness another death. The idea of never seeing such horrors ever again was a very welcoming thought. In fact, he might just give up medicine altogether if he could find another profession in their new life.

It was _their_ new life. He turned to see the scout run over, panting and pulling his undershirt back on. He smiled at the medic, almost like they were pals or something. There was a strange glint off of that smile, like it was the most authentic and special thing in the world. There was something weird about the view, it was both tantalizingly exciting and absolutely terrifying.

“You feeling better?” scout asked, that smile still plastered onto his face.

“Y-yea,” he threw a thumb towards the door, “Let’s go.”

He followed scout inside this time. He had too much on his mind to think about where his feet were going. He had too much to think on, from the eeriness of that spy to the strangeness of how he was noticing scout. The spy should not have been smiling like that, not when he was going to die. And the scout? Why was he smiling like that? They were not pals by any stretch, and neither of them liked each other. They certainly had no reason to smile at each other. Had scout always smiled and medic just never noticed it before now?

He shook off the train of thought as they came to the laboratory. The two medics that were there went hushed, staring at him. It was so strange, how they just stared at him like he was some sort of experiment. For all he knew, that was what this all was, some great big experiment to them.

That would all change soon, he knew that much. He would get his share of the supplies. He would meet with the sniper again. They were getting the hell out of this hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is coming along slowly.


	17. Lurking in Shadows and Taking Lunch Pails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic discovers two people who have been hiding in shadows. You won't believe who is still alive.  
> Scout might not be after covering for medic.

That evening, while the medic was collecting and packing supplies, he was approached by a small engineer. The man came from behind him, sidled up beside him, with nary a word. He was quiet, eyes darting around suspiciously, while he slipped a hand onto the table the medic was working on.

Medic almost turned entirely to him, but was almost frightened by how hesitant the man was being. It was quiet in the whole building, so the sheer existence of hearing one’s own breath was disturbing. The anxiety got to him, and he jumped when the man’s hand touched his. He glanced to the hand, which was mostly covering something. He lifted his hand ever so slightly, moving his fingers towards the other’s hand as it moved away, leaving something behind for his larger hand to cover.

The engineer nodded and cleared his throat. Once again, he said nothing. Although it was eerie, it was no doubt a sign. He was with them and being very quiet about it.

Not wanting anybody to pass by and see what might be a secret, he slipped the object into his pocket. He grabbed the materials he was working with, hastily packing them into the lunch pail he was using for transport. He hurried from the workbench through the infirmary area, hoping to blend as being just another medic in the study ward.

He grew wary of the thing in his pocket though. No doubt the engineer was working with them, planning on escaping along with the sniper. If that was the case, then why did he bring this thing to the medic. The thought made his hand itch with the curiosity to drag it out for a peek.

With no alternative, he found himself darting down a set of stairs and outside. He was in the front area this time. He was walking quickly, the pail still in hand. He required a moment of solace with silence, where nobody would disturb him or startle him unnecessarily. If there was any place that nobody would be, it would be the hole that he dragged himself out of on that fateful day he was chosen to be a pet project to the medics here.

“Quiet night, is it not?” the French accent crawled up the back of his neck and set a cringing chill up his spine.

The medic turned, hand reaching for a weapon that was not there. Dammit all, he had no plans for any of this. Now he would have to either fight hand to hand or run. A spy would no doubt try to figure out what was in the box. He did not care what level of power medics held here, a spy was a spy and they would spy anything they could get their crooked noses into.

He looked at the spy, who strolled out of the shadows with a cigarette in hand. How he managed to keep the smell of smoke to himself was beyond the medic. He should have noticed it long before.

“I have no time for chit chat,” he said, dismissively.

“I think you have time for an old friend,” the spy’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight.

He blinked, stumped at the man’s words. He shook himself out of the trance-like state of disbelief, “I don’t have any friends. I never did. Excuse me. Goodbye.”

“Not so fast,” the spy closed the distance between them.

The medic quickly moved the pail slightly behind himself, trying to keep the man’s hands away from it. His attention was immediately drawn away from his contraband to the attire he was in. Out here in the clear moonlight, he could see his unmasked face. He could see every wrinkle from years of frowning and every strand of hair that dared to get in the way of his sharp eyes. He could even see the threads of that very peculiar scarf that he knew very well.

“Spy?!” he spat with disbelief, taking a large step back. He had seen the man die, having watched the finishing cut. The man had smiled up at him in such an eerie way, it was still ingrained into his mind.

“Oui,” the spy replied, with a nod, “Your teammate has come to rescue you. Though, you seem not to pay attention to that. Or perhaps you already forgot what happened back in that dark room?”

He took another step back, but the spy started stepping forward, closing the space between them. He was adamant and would get what he wanted. This was the worst spy to be around, the deadliest and most vicious. He could already feel his heart pounding in his throat, as thoughts of how the spy would go for revenge in this moment of opportunity started filling his mind. His thoughts kept spinning and spinning, around and around until he could not focus.

“Hmm…” the spy eyed him, with a cold glare, “Not even a slight moment of relief?”

“To see _you_?!” he exclaimed.

The spy’s frown deepened, “I see you’re still recovering. Strange. Being here has changed you. Remarkably so, as your temper has decreased and has been replaced by a marked capacity for shock and awe.”

Medic returned the frown, “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“You never do,” the spy retorted, eyeing him in a curt manner.

“Whatever,” medic took several steps back, quickly putting distance between himself and the spy, “I am not associated with the likes of you.”

“Oh? You’re not part of this team now, are you? You don’t honestly think they took you on to be one of _their_ medics, do you?” the spy had a teasing tone, as if medic honestly thought that.

There was no shock there. It was a no brainer for the medic, as right from the start, everything was just about survival. At this point though, he was planning to leave and never come back. Maybe he would never see a spy again, that would be something nice.

“I’m not on this team,” he replied, still moving away from the spy, “but I’m also not on yours.”

He turned and broke into a run. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He ignored the burn in his muscles, as the excess exercise began to weigh on him. He turned a corner, following his memory. The route took him right by the hole he was aiming for.

When he dropped in, he was barely missed by the loud blast that hit the dirt near his head. He screamed in fear, raising his hands defensively towards the soldier who shot at him. He stared in disbelief at the living remains of the soldier called General.

The man must have been surviving on little to nothing, so he was starting to waste. His face was scraggly, with a beard that seemed to have overtaken his face. The helmet sunk low, pressing down on long, unkempt hair. He was snarling at him, the shotgun raised at the ready.

“General?” he felt stunned at seeing him there. How could he have survived down here for so long?

“Medic?” the Soldier gave him what he could only guess was a confused look from underneath the helmet.

“It’s…me…your teammate,” he assured him, hoping the man might lower his weapon.

“You’re wearing enemy clothes! You are the enemy!” he barked.

“No no! It’s just a disguise!” he responded hastily.

“You’re a spy? Then take it off!” the soldier demanded.

“No!” the medic spat, “I’m not stripping naked!”

“Spies strip naked all the time! Do your duty and take the disguise off!” the soldier barked angrily.

“Bah! I don’t have time for this!” he pulled out the object to find that it was a walkie talkie. He was surprised to realize this, not even feeling the antennae and buttons in his hand before.

The soldier walked over to look at the walkie talkie, scratching his head as his shotgun dangled at his side. Medic hesitated, unsure if he should use it or not. Maybe now was not the time. If it was, he could at least find out what he was to use it for.

“You brought food!” the soldier pulled the lunch pail from his hand.

“No! Don’t eat that!” he exclaimed, dropping his walkie talkie.

The man dug through the pail, pulling out a couple of items. He popped open a vial of anesthetics and popped them into his mouth. He crunched on pills and guzzled cough medicine.

“This stuff tastes like medicines!” the soldier said, muffled by a mouthful of pills.

“That’s because it _is_ medicine! You moron!” he grabbed the pail to pull it away. This resulted in everything falling out into the dirt. He sighed with a feeling like despair at seeing that he would have to start over.

“Now look what you’ve done!” the soldier spat, a couple of pills flying from his mouth as he still crunched on a mouthful of medication.

“I hope you die of multiple organ failures,” he growled.

The soldier pointed to him, “You’d better watch yourself, son! You’re treading a thin line!”

Medic sighed, trying to think of a way out of this, “Sol- _General_ , do you want to get out of here or not?”

“What’s it to you?” the soldier growled.

“I’m in the middle of planning an escape,” he explained.

“Aha! Espionage! Good thinking doc! I knew you couldn’t be a traitor!” the soldier grinned from ear to ear.

“Sure…” the medic rolled his eyes, “Listen, I need to get back and refill this pail with medicine.”

“That’s good thinking!” the soldier said, excitedly, “Trick the enemy into thinking you’ve gotten them lunch. Then bam! Hit them where it hurts! With medicinal poison!”

“Not…” now that he thought about it, that was not a bad way to eliminate people, “That’s not what it’s for, but alright. Listen, you stay put and I’ll…be back.” He looked at the walkie talkie before stuffing it into a pocket. “I have to get back before somebody blows my cover.” No doubt the scout would be asking around for him.

“I need more food, soldier!” the soldier barked at him.

“I will bring more food!” he grumbled, “Just sit tight.”

It was likely no use. The sheer amount and mix of medications that the man had just devoured would likely kill him in a few hours. He would probably be a rotting corpse by morning.

“I will be waiting for you here,” the General said, taking on an erect stance.

“Well, good,” he said as he made his way out of the hole, “Just don’t let anybody else know you’re down here.”

“Yes sir!” the man saluted, before the medic disappeared.

He sighed with relief when he was out in the cool air. His paranoia creeped up as the memory of the spy came back to him. He shuddered, as if the man was a creature watching him from the darkness. That was probably what he was doing too.

Without hesitation, he hurried back into the base. He did not go the way he came. He was not that foolish. The spy would easily follow him and possibly corner him somewhere. He would stay far from the man who should be dead.

 

He finally laid in his bed with a relieved sigh. He quietly tucked the pail of medication, freshly packed after sneaking into a laboratory, underneath the bed beside the scout. He heard the faint shuffling and hoped the kid did not get the stupid idea to start opening it or something. They could not afford to let the other medics know that he was up to anything.

In the silence that followed, he waited. The creepy eerie silence would normally welcome him. He was normally in kinship with the shadows that crept him and separated him from others. This time, it did not feel so welcoming, instead seeming like a cold finger that was slipping into the blankets and rendering their warmth meaningless.

He flinched, tensing up when fingers touched his arm. He looked down to see the hand reaching up from under his bed. What a literal iteration of a child’s nightmare. A hand reaching out from under the bed to touch fragile skin, as if tasting before ripping limbs apart.

He took a breath, “What is it, scout?”

“Doc, can we talk?” scout whispered.

“Not here,” he brushed the hand away and rolled onto his side, turning to the wall, “Not now.”

 

He was stretching as he woke, trying to shake off sleepiness, when a man charged in and started speaking in a loud booming voice, “Surprise room checks! Everybody out!”

The others bunking in this room were just as bewildered as he was, and the eight medics, plus one scout, were bustled out of the room to stand in a line in the hallway. He felt like some sort of prisoner being shuffled about. What a rude and indecent way to start the day, especially standing around in what he used as pajamas, while other medics walked past.

Probably the weirdest part about it was scout. He never really noticed or paid attention to it, since scout spent most of sleep hidden under the bed. However, it seemed that scout’s only clothing for sleeping were the boxers he would wear beneath his shorts. Now he was standing out in the hallway, with a cool breeze pouring in from the shadows outside.

They must have been standing there for a whole twenty five minutes. It was so awkward. They tried to avoid eye contact with one another, most of them staring at the floor. All the while, a growing fear and frustration made him want to run into the room and grab his things.

One of the medics who was searching the bunk room came marching out with none other than the lunch pail. He lost the blood in his face, growing terrified. They might not have looked in it yet, so he had a chance.

He opened his mouth to speak, but became silenced as the man marched up to him. Squared up in the shoulders like a soldier, the man raised the tin lunch pail, as if it had never been seen before. He could feel his heart racing through, trying to pump blood back to his head to fill his brain with oxygen. He felt his hands tingle with the cold yet sweaty sensation of terror. The growing emotion made him want to bolt.

“Is this yours?” he growled low, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s uh-” he tried to answer, but he was immediately cut off.

“This pretty pail was full of contraband,” the other medic went on, caressing the pail in a suggestive manner, “Medicinal contraband.”

“I like to-” he tried again, but to no avail.

“I hope you think twice next time you want a scout for an experiment,” he held the pail out towards the scout.

Shocked, the scout looked from one medic to the other and back. He did not seem to understand what was going on. If only, for once, he could catch on.

“To think you would work with a scout like this,” the man growled, opening the pail with his other hand. He let the medicines, the bandages, and even the sterile syringes fall onto the ground. “It’s a shame to think you would go so low as to stoop to that level of stupidity.”

“I did it!” scout suddenly spoke up.

All of the medics suddenly turned to the younger mercenary. They did not say anything. Medic himself could not think of anything to say, but he wished he had.

“It was me, that’s mine,” the scout explained, “I filled the pail with medicine, so I could-.”

“You stole from the laboratory!” the man shook the lunch pail angrily.

“Y-yea,” the scout lied, though he honestly looked like he was really fessing up to the crime, “I did it though. I did it alone. Just me. Only me. None of them had anything to do with it. They didn’t know I was hiding it. I was hiding it from them.”

The medics came eye to eye. He stared back at him, waiting for the final words. All the while, his mind was rushing for something to say. He had to say something. Somebody had to step in and do something.

“Very well,” the man snapped his free fingers. The scout was immediately grabbed and chained up by three medics who had been searching the room.

“Hey! No wait! I’m sorry! I’m honestly sorry! I didn’t know those were important!” scout rambled, trying to come up with something the medic might accept as an excuse.

“Take him downstairs,” the other medic flung the pail down onto the medicines, then turned to the men lined up in pajamas, “Clean that up!”

As the man was leaving, medic just stood there and stared at the medicines. The others started to clean it up, while he felt distant. He could not put his finger on it. There was a legitimate concern that scout was being touted off to God knows where.


	18. Small Escape, Victory for Scout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic lands in a cell with scout, who gets foolish and gets free. They have no time to stick around, so it's time to leave.

Medic’s orders had been to report to the section of the infirmary he had been assigned to. There was somebody watching him now. He was being watched very carefully. Even as he walked the halls, treading carefully around others, he could tell that that person was following him.

He did as he was told, working on autopilot while trying to wrap his mind around everything. Because of him, they had gotten caught – or rather he had gotten caught. For whatever reason, scout had taken the fall. It would not have been that way if he had not put the lunch pail under the bed where scout had slept.

He bit his lip, trying to figure out how they had known. There was no way they had just figured it out on their own. There was no way that could have been a random check.

If not for hiding it under the bed, scout would not be in trouble. If not for hiding it under the bed, it would be him in scout’s place. He tried to assure himself in any way that he could. While scout may be suffering, medic was not there, and had preserved himself.

He shook himself off of autopilot, accidentally dropping a beaker. He slammed his fist onto the counter. It _did_ matter that scout was there. It did not matter that it was scout that they had taken. Because they knew that scout was supposed to be under his control. Loss of control meant a failure in his experiment or that the obedience had been used by the medic.

He spun on his heel and barely blundered through the man who had been following him. The man had moved to the side, stunned by the swift change in behavior. Medic himself hurried, not wanting anybody to get a warning to those up higher.

There was no time to waste, so he had to find the scout soon. It was not long before he was cornered instead. He was stumped at first, thinking the blockage by other medics was all coincidental. Then he was grabbed and chained. He barely started struggling, before they started dragging him off.

 

Sitting in a dark room with nothing to accompany him but his own breath, he sat quietly. He was not sure what was going to happen, but he had a slight idea. He did not like the idea or want to know it to be true, but he had the idea.

He was fidgeting, trying to figure out how to entertain himself in this silence, when the door opened. He raised his head, looking up to see several medics struggling with an athletic figure. They gave him a harsh shove and slammed the door shut.

The figure on the floor scrunched up, hands apparently bound behind his back. He curled up so that he was warmer, but likely was no more comfortable than before. As medic’s eyes readjusted, he realized that it was none other than his scout. His face was beaten to a red and purple pulp, with some areas slowly blackening. His feet were bound together. Blood covered the front of his shirt, as if sprayed onto it.

He barely made out what he was murmuring at first. He was whimpering, with the sound of sniffling and sobs accompanying it. He sounded very broken, beyond any point that medic had ever pushed him.

“I want to go home,” he finally caught the murmur.

He bit his lip and looked at the floor. What was home? The other base? Back where they were still just other mercenaries?

Scout let out a huffed sigh. He turned so that his back was laying on his hands pressed to the cold stone ground. He looked up at the dark ceiling, despite barely being able to register the wooden planks overhead.

“I miss mom,” he said a bit louder, but still so softly, “I miss…everybody. Everybody I ever knew is dead. I miss them.” He sighed again. “They don’t miss me. I’m not…” His voice started cracking as more tears seemed to start forming in his eyes.

“Scout,” medic heard his own voice but did not realize he was speaking.

Scout gasped and shifted, trying to sit up or get on his knees. When he managed to look at him, he was squinting, “M-medic?”

He nodded a little, “I’m…uh…you didn’t have to do that.”

He could not see scout’s face well, but he could see the younger man shifting around. “You were going to get in a shit ton of trouble,” scout explained, “I just…sort of…didn’t think about…getting the consequences myself.”

Medic winced, “I didn’t want you to do that.”

“I don’t care what you wanted!” scout raised his voice, while struggling to get up onto his knees, “I wanted to do it!”

“No you didn’t!” medic replied firmly, “You were just being stupid.”

“You don’t know what I wanted,” scout protested, still squirming as he tried to get up.

“No, but you were being stupid!” medic spat at him.

“Oh yea, just keep stomping on the scout!” he struggled, but finally managed to get onto his knees, “You know what? You know what your problem is? You don’t know anything about people!”

He merely glared at the scout. Why would he ever need to know people? Why would he ever _want_ to _know_ about people.

“See?” scout took his silence as acceptance of his previous statement.

“I can take apart a man, debone him and reassemble his skeletal structure,” he explained to the scout, “I don’t need to know _anything **about**_ people.”

“Then you’re the biggest idiot I have ever met!” scout blurted angrily.

“I think you need to check a mirror,” the medic growled with frustration.

Suddenly, the door banged open. A tired and disheveled looking Demoman stepped halfway through the door, “Ay! The lot of you better shut the hell up!”

“ _You_ shut the hell up!” scout blurted.

“Scout no!” medic growled at him.

Scout went on further to start insulting the man, “Nobody cares about a stupid, creepy, smelly Scottish guy!”

The demoman gritted his teeth, pearly whites that were almost perfect against those dark lips. They were the nicest looking teeth of any mercenary medic had seen. Scout must have noticed the same thing too, because he proceeded to comment.

“I ought to break every tooth in your mouth! Come at me with your sword thing and I’ll beat you down with my bat! I’ll show you how a headlock works!” scout rambled, almost endlessly.

“Scout, shut up!” medic barked.

“Come on! I’ve got nothing to lose!” scout raised his voice, as he turned on his knees to face the demoman.

Angered, the demoman came through the door and drew his sword. “I don’t even have to make up an excuse for killing _you_!” the man raised his sword over his head, about to bring it down on the scout.

Medic looked on, certain that he was about to see the scout die. It would be yet another bloody death. It would be yet another reason to be alone.

Scout shifted, swinging his legs around himself and then up to meet the sword halfway. His jaw dropped as the power of the swing carried the sword between the scout’s legs, with the tip just inches from his flesh. Medic could not believe it, feeling like he was watching somebody bend physics to their will.

Scout threw his legs, moving his body in an arc as he got his weight off of the ground and his body on its feet. He flinched away as the demoman swung again, trying to kill the semi-freed scout. Scout ducked and dodged out of the way, until he jumped and got his hands to come to the front by lowering them under his feet. With his hands in front of himself, he seemed to move with more balance, as he dodged around the demoman.

They came a little close for comfort and medic scrambled to his feet. That was when he was reminded that his legs were not bound. He was not agile enough to jump over his hands though. The agility necessary for that would have made him a scout. At least that was what he thought. He managed to get to his feet, but that was the extent of that, getting up and further from the scuffle.

“Scout you idiot!” he called out.

“You couldn’t hit a barn wall!” scout spat at the demoman.

“Come here! I’m gonna make you squeal!” the demoman yelled at him.

The demoman swung with his sword again. This time, Scout had his arms out. He seemed pretty good at predicting the swing, as he made sure that it came down on the chains to break them. Although, immediately after, the younger mercenary was screaming about pain. No doubt the strike had broken bones in his wrists.

Scout was doubled over, cradling his arms, when the demoman started towards him. He was not hurrying, seeing as the scout was injured. He had his blade raised, ready to strike.

Medic did not think about it. He did not have time to think things through. All he knew for sure was that the demoman as a general class kept a decent amount of alcohol on hand. That meant that they were drunk at any given moment, and this one seemed rather belligerent and tired. With a blow from a body, he could be taken by surprise while he thought about something better. The worst threat would be that sword, but that could be dealt with after.

He darted forward, charging shoulder first into the demoman’s side. He grunted in pain and surprise, almost immediately dropping his sword. Medic did not stop moving, until he slammed the man into the wall. To his surprise, the Scotsman’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed on the floor.

“That was more successful than I had intended,” he noted.

“Wow,” he heard the scout breathe.

He turned and walked over, “You’ve probably broken your wrists.”

“You think?” the scout scoffed.

“Shut up,” medic snapped at him, “You brought this on yourself. You shouldn’t play with swords like that.”

Scout sighed as he let the medic check his hands, though not without small protests. “It hurts a lot,” scout said, sheepishly.

“I imagine so,” medic replied

“We can get out now,” scout gestured to the door with a nod.

Medic turned and immediately started out the door. He glanced around, searching for any signs of danger, then for any signs of a key. He found just what he needed flung on the table that suited as a desk for the demoman. He grabbed the keys to free his hands. He hurried back to the scout, taking him by the arm.

“Hey! Gentle!” scout protested a little louder than before.

“Be quiet,” medic insisted, “We’re getting out of here.”

“Wait- really? How?” scout asked, eagerly.

“First, you’re going to find your sniper friend,” he told him firmly, “Do not be seen by anybody who could identify you.”

“Uh…hello! My hands are broken!” scout exclaimed.

“Your wrists are likely fractured. Probably the small bones around your lower palm. They’re strong though, so I don’t think anything is actually broken,” medic told him firmly.

“It still hurts though,” scout cradled his hands to his chest.

“That lunch pail contained our medical supplies,” he explained, “Now we need more. I am without a way to heal your hands until I get my hands on those. You find the sniper. I’m going to get what we need.”

They parted ways, but medic did not go to the infirmary. Rather, he headed outside into the fresh air. It was not for a pleasant stroll though. It was for a much different, probably more dangerous reason. He trotted the way he had before, searching around the path for any signs of a shadow or a crevice that could hide a scrawny spindly man.

“Where are you?” he growled low.

He made his way all the way to the hole. He gave a small sigh, letting himself fall in. He would have to make sure nobody followed him. He would not want to be noticed by another medic.

He was not surprised to find the Soldier there in the hole, but after a few moments, he was surprised that he was alive. The two of them looked at each other, as if baffled. They did not form words for the longest time.

“You’re still alive?” medic asked, eyes wide with astonishment.

“The rations you called food did _not_ satiate me,” the Soldier informed him, “It _did_ cause an upsetting complaint in my belly.”

“That wasn’t food, you idiot!” he shook his head with a sigh. He turned to look out of the hole, searching for any signs of somebody who might have followed him.

“I’m surprised you’re back here,” the French accent crept up his back and sent a shiver down his spine.

The terrifying sensation of being crept up on crawled all over his back. He shuddered, trying to shake free of the nerves that felt that twinge. He turned around slowly, looking just past the Soldier, who had turned around as well, at the scarved spy.

Scruffy and unkempt, the spy did not look himself. He was sporting the start of a beard, and his hair was scraggly and matted from the desert heat. No doubt he had been out here for a few nights and days. It had certainly been a while since the last battle on this turf, of which the medic was aware of.

“So, you _are_ here,” he spoke cautiously.

“Only to get out of the sun,” the spy remarked.

Medic gathered his wits as he faced the man squarely. Now was not the time for wimping out of anything. Now, he had to be more of a civil man than he ever was before. That meant putting aside any of the emotions or logical hang-ups he had about spies. Perhaps especially regarding _this_ spy.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Spy had the beginnings of doubt forever coming out of this situation alive. When he had followed the medic the night before, he hardly expected to find General. As annoying as he was, it was worth dealing with the obnoxious man in order to stay in the cooler shade, where the sun would not burn his skin.

He had expected that he would die down here. Getting out of the sunlight was just a way of making his death a little more comfortable. Not that one could be very comfortable with starving to death.

Here he was all of a sudden. The man had appeared like a miracle. It took him back to when the man was still young. Back when he still had a smile to share, when he could still enjoy his worka on the battlefield. He would appear, leaping over cars or blasting from a demoman’s trap, to land nearby and triumphantly heal his teammates. And he would do it all on his own most of the time, either unaided by new medics, or the sole medic on the team.

“I need your assistance,” the man’s words were so carefully chosen, and with such a sheepish tone that it shook him out of his memories. The usual wariness and haughty disposition was practically gone.

“What?” he needed a minute to process this. It was behavior beyond the medic’s usual way of doing things.

“I need you to help me,” medic informed him, a bit more firmly this time, “We are getting out of here, but we need medical materials.”

“I thought you had some last night,” the spy asked, suspiciously.

“Those were eaten by him,” he pointed to the soldier with irritation, “Then after I refilled it, they confiscated it this morning.”

“Who’s th-?” spy cut himself off and pinched the bridge of his nose. No, this was all wrong. “So you’re out of medication and you want me to help you get some?” spy asked, frowning at the medic.

“Not just medicine, we need bandages, and other supplies,” he explained, “We’re getting out of here.”

“I want out of here!” the soldier said eagerly, “May I come too?” The man cheered so loudly and so excitedly that it hardly seemed like an actual request.

“Very well,” the medic said, “Do _exactly_ as I say though!”

“Exactly as you say!” General saluted.

It was all so wrong. This was so out of character. General did not behave like this. Medic was not sheepish and trusting. He was haughty and distrusting of people. He was violent when he had to be. He was even mean at times.

“Who are you, really?” spy asked.

The medic did a double take, before giving him a curious look, “I am the medic.”

“The best medic!” the General said, excitedly.

“Well?” the medic turned his attention to spy again, “Will you help?”

Spy hesitated for a moment, “I’ll do it.”

He looked from one man to the other. The were watching him, eager and about to explode into cheering or something. They were hardly the men he remembered. They hardly even seemed like mercenaries. Maybe that was just what happened to men when they were starved and alone, or forced to confront the reality of their existence as just another clone.

“On one condition,” he stated, straightening his back.

“What is it?” the medic asked.

He started to raise his hand to gesture to himself, when the soldier blurted, “You’re the best spy!”

He was taken aback by the sudden statement. It was definitely not what he was going to suggest. There was so much more he wanted, but he wanted it specifically from the medic. It was not a matter of feeling good about himself or being talked up by somebody else.

The medic cleared his throat, “You are the best spy.”

That statement felt much more fulfilling than it should have. It definitely felt better coming from his mouth, rather than the soldier’s. Where he had gotten the idea that the soldier had any kind of sense in his head was beyond the spy. Still, he could not help but feel this fluttering sensation of joy from the words.

He offered a smile in response, “I’ll do it!”

Without any further conference, the medic and soldier started climbing from the hole. He hurried after them, not wanting to get left behind. There were too many thoughts rushing through his head to make certain connections and worry about certain things though.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Scout’s heart was pounding out of his chest. He could not get himself to calm down. After what had happened with the demoman, of course he felt all pumped and shit.

What he could not get off his mind though was medic. Of course he just about gave up his own life and safety for the guy, but it almost seemed like he cared. It was all in his own way and to his own suiting of course. He never expected medic to come in rescuing him anyways.

That was why it came as no surprise when he did not actually offer any help to scout. He suppose it made sense that the man explained he had no supplies with which to help him. Medics generally did not have super healing powers without a medigun or some other tool. Perhaps the guy would be smart and pick one up this time. Scout certainly did not want to wait for his hands to heal.

“What you doing here?” a sniper growled stepping into his way.

Startled, he took a step back. There was no way he was up for a fight. He could not even grab a bat, let alone start throwing punches. He would be overpowered easily if he did not keep his distance enough for fleeing.

“He’s with me,” another sniper piped up in a low voice.

The two of them looked over. Scout was infinitely relieved to see the sniper he came looking for. It even gave him a sigh of relief to see him. He smiled at the guy, hoping to show just how glad he was.

When the other sniper left, he lowered his voice though, “What are you doing here, anyways? Heard your medic got caught up and taken downstairs.”

“We got out,” scout whispered hastily.

“Glad to see you got out,” the sniper offered him a consoling smile.

It took him aback just a little bit. Even so, scout kept moving on. “We have to get out of here now,” he said in a hushed voice, “I uh…I wasn’t given any specific instructions, I was just supposed to come and find you.”

“Perhaps the medic wants to talk,” sniper said, “Where’s he at?”

“Probably the infirmary,” scout shrugged.

“That’s not smart. He’ll get caught if he-” sniper cut off and gave scout a look of concern, “What’s wrong with your hands?”

“Ah…um…fractured my wrists,” he replied, “Medic’s probably bringing a medigun or something to heal them.

Sniper shook his head, “You shouldn’t be running around with your hands like that.”

He took scout by the shoulder and led him through the sniper nest area to his own private section. He opened a first aid box and began wrapping scout’s wrists. He was silent as he did so, carefully handling scout, as if there was a reason to give tender care to some random scout.

Now that he thought about it, it was strange that a sniper trusted a scout. Why was he even bothering with tending to his broken wrists anyways? It was not like it affected the sniper in any way. Wrapping them like this would not help either. Maybe it would restrict some movement, but not all of it.

“There,” sniper stated, as he finished the wrap, “That should hold you over. We’ll get you properly wrapped when the medic comes.”

The sniper then reached into a bag and pulled out a walkie talkie. Scout did not remember anybody using a walkie talkie. It seemed a little out of place.

“The tigers are pouncing early,” the sniper growled into the walkie talkie, “Get moving.”

There was about forty seconds of silence before an engineer’s voice came over the speaker, “Roger that.”

“Copy!” a demoman grunted.

“Too soon,” a heavy’s voice came over the speaker.

“No choice,” sniper replied, “And no time. We leave now or we leave never.”

“Fine,” the heavy replied, “Will meet you there.”

“Will meet you where?” scout could not help but ask.

“We have to get to our ride,” sniper hefted his things onto his back. It was one big pack that could easily be stocked together. “Thankfully, our engineer is always three steps ahead of everybody else.”

“He is?” scout let him take his shoulder, leading him out of the snipers’ nesting area.

“Let’s go see about finding your medic,” sniper replied, “Then we’ll meet with the engineer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've made up my mind about how this story will end. :3
> 
> Let the headcanons roll.


	19. Rallying the Troops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for an uprising, gather a team for escape!

Medic stopped, pushing the soldier back around the corner into hiding. He listened as two other medics walked by, chatting aimlessly about lunch in German. They were just some random medics, so he had no idea whether they were even a threat, but it was still aggravating to think that they could be caught. He peered carefully around the corner, wary of anybody else that might come by.

“You don’t have a plan, do you?” the spy asked, with a deadpan tone.

“Scout does it this way,” medic noted.

He did not want to let on just how terrified he was right now, not having any idea what he was doing. Things almost always went right for the scout. To the best of his knowledge, the scout did not plan much either. He just went with his gut and did his best with what he was handed. Commendably stupid, but it was what the medic had. He figured he ought to deal with what he had been handed.

“And things work out for him…so…” he added, studying the area around him, wary of other medics who might recognize hi.m

“You’re going to do things like a scout?” the spy sniffed with disapproval.

Medic frowned, feeling even more frustrated. He did not need judgment right now. He needed some form of support from what were essentially his teammates. He was not getting that and it was making him feel a bubbling anger in the pit of his gut.

“We need a distraction!” General leaped out and started running. Shirtless and screaming, the man looked like a crazy, malnourished moron.

The spy sighed in frustration, “I suppose we should just hurry.” He pulled out one of his tools and quickly put on a disguise as one of the medics.

“L-let’s go then,” medic nodded to him, before hurrying around the corner. He rushed through the base, leading the way into the infirmary.

“Quickly,” the spy hissed, “Get what you need. I’ll keep a lookout. Don’t take long.”

“Got it,” medic made haste through the infirmary, dodging others as much as he could.

He did his best to keep anyone from seeing his face or any other distinguishing features. Surely he could blend in with the rest of them. He was a clone, as they all were. Their faces were the same, so they should be indistinguishable. That was how everybody treated them anyways. The copies that they were should make it easy to just blend in with the rest of the clones from the same genetic pool.

He found the room with the battle equipment and felt the beginnings of a smirk. They would need defenses, after all. He grabbed a medigun, a kritzkrieg, a needle gun, a crossbow and a few other things. He made sure to load up on ammunition, before hurrying to grab more _medical_ centered supplies.

“Medic!” he flinched and spun around, forgetting to hide his face, when a medic came up behind him. He came face to face with the other medic, feeling flustered and afraid. “We have to move! I had to kill two already,” the other man insisted, in earnest.

He sighed in relief at realizing that it was just the spy. He was fairly harmless for the time being, so he could relax. He quickly glanced around though, wary of anybody else who might recognize him.

“Don’t sneak around like that!” he protested.

The spy rolled his eyes, “Did you get what you needed?”

He shoved the kritzkrieg and extra supplies into the other’s hands, “Hurry! We must move!” He rushed from the infirmary, hoping they would cross paths with the scout and the sniper sooner or later.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Scout was growing worried as he walked along with the sniper. For the most part, nobody bothered him. Even the other scouts did not bother him, as long as he was walking along with the sniper. They did not even look twice.

Medic had not told him exactly where he was going or what his plan was though. It seemed like he would go to the infirmary, but there was little chance of him going there without being met with problems. Other medics would recognize him, and no doubt the mercenaries here talked enough to know what was going on. They could overlook a scout, but not a medic. Everybody probably already knew his face too.

Relief struck him through the chest when he saw the medic. He physically had to force himself to breathe, to keep himself from suffocating. He could have cried with sudden joy, but he was too much of a man for that.

“Got it! Let’s go!” medic’s eyes sort of lit up when he saw them.

“Alright!” scout cheered with joy. He was caught mid jump of exaltation, when he saw the medic trailing behind him.

Sniper saw him too, and he went into a defensive stance. He even drew a machete, ready for a fight. Medic took a step back, eyes glued to the dangerous Australian.

“There is no need for that,” the medic spoke hesitantly.

“What’s _he_ doing here?” he pointed to the other medic with his machete.

The medic turned and had a moment of surprise in his eyes, “Oh! You’re still disguised.”

“I don’t have any extra hands,” the other medic stated.

“I don’t like his,” the sniper growled, “You weren’t supposed to bring anybody else.”

“This isn’t somebody from your team though,” medic handed a medigun and some other things to the scout before taking stuff from the other man.

With a swift gesture of a now free hand, the other medic’s appearance became shimmering smoke, replaced by the form of none other than scarf spy. A terrible dread filled scout’s body, dropping a heavy weight from his ribcage to his lower belly. The dangerous monster that came from his own team had followed them to this one, and was going to follow them on their quest to escape to safety.

“I don’t know but I think this is worse,” the sniper growled with disdain.

“What?” the spy gave the sniper a haughty look.

Scout was slightly terrified. It was like watching an angry dog getting ready to pounce on a curled up snake. He did not want to see the dog get hurt, but he did not want anywhere near the snake. He was not sure what he could do or say, but he certainly could not just run from the situation.

“We are running out of time men!” the scout was astounded to see none other than General running up behind the medic and spy. He was scrawny though, looking like he had not eaten all month.

“What are you talking about?” the medic shoved a kritzkrieg into the spy’s hands.

“There are demomen and soldiers coming for us! The enemy is aware! I repeat, the enemy is aware!” General roared loudly.

“Fuck!” scout muttered with frustration.

Of course the soldier would go off and make some trouble that would cause problems for the rest of them. What was that freaking soldier even doing there anyways? General being who he was should have been on the other team or dead by now. There was no way anybody could convince the scout that there was a conceivable situation in which the General ended up on this team, and was working cohesively with them for this escape. The man was the loosest of all cannons.

“Time to get going,” the sniper growled.

“Indeed,” the spy gave him one last haughty look.

The sniper turned and led the way out of the building. Scout quickly followed, heeled by the medic, spy and soldier. They hurried alongside the walls, sticking close to areas that were not being watched. They rushed to the garage, where they found a bunch of mercenaries packing a few trucks.

“We are ready to go!” an engineer gave the sniper a thumbs up.

“Alright, let’s load up,” the sniper climbed into a camper looking truck, tossing his backpack into the back so he could sit in the driver’s seat. He shifted around to get comfortable before getting a look around himself.

Scout paused, looking from the sniper to the medic, who headed off to one of the trucks with an engineer and the spy. Part of him really wanted to join the sniper, but some small part of him felt like he belonged with the medic. He was not sure what it was, something calling him to follow the medic to the truck he would be sitting in.

“Hey! You coming?” the sniper called to him.

He turned to look at the sniper, seeing a welcoming grin with a welcoming gesture. Everything about him was welcoming and likable. The guy was just so darn likable.

This sniper was the nicest guy he had ever met. He was even nicer than any scout he had ever known. He was nice to the other snipers, who responded in kind with respect. He was respectful to people of the other classes. And when it had come to the aimless scout, he had been all of that and nice. He was a good man and he was great to be around.

Everything about him was great. Everything about him was just purely good and probably addicting. Scout probably would have called the man an addiction, if he had anything more on the topic. His mind was becoming lost on the way the stubble was growing in on sniper’s chin, that awkwardly cute way he just sort of wasn’t as great a talker as scout was, and how above everyone else he wanted scout to sit next to him.

His heart felt like it was soaring on eagle wings. He imagined that was probably fitting, since he was American. General would have been proud of the analogy, he thought. Nothing soldiers liked better than American things.

“Scout?” the sniper repeated.

He had a pleading look on his face. His hands were gesturing for the scout to join him in the camper. There was that empty seat behind him, left just for him. Not any given reason, just because the sniper wanted to sit next to him.

He looked beyond the camper towards the next truck. The medic had hopped in there and was getting settled in. General and the scarf spy were also getting into that truck. None of them even paid attention to scout. The medic did not even seem to notice that scout was not there with him, ready to go. He probably would not really have cared if scout had been left behind. He probably would have let scout take the fall and die.

He made up his mind, shaking away the feeling that he needed to be where medic was. That lingering sensation, a need to be next to him, was holding him back. It had held him up long enough, so he climbed up into the camper, to settle into that chair. He put on a smile, showing the sniper how happy he was to be there. He was special to the sniper, and in that he could be grateful. For once, there was somebody who respected him and actually wanted him around.

Sniper smiled back at him. The pleading expression changed so quickly to light up eyes, a widened toothy smile, and an eagerness in his movements. Sniper was as happy that scout had chosen to join him as he was to join him. That was perhaps the best part about it.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Medic looked on in shock. He had just looked around for scout, overwhelmed by the other men he was with. He opened his mouth to call out for scout, just to see him climb into the cab of a camper truck.

He watched, dazed for some reason. When he managed to shake off the sensation long enough to think about it, he realized that he did not know why. He should not care anyways. Scout was better off bothering somebody else. Still, there was something nagging at him, telling him that he would rather be the one scout was bothering. He would rather be sitting with the scout than any of these mercenaries with him.

He sank inward as the vehicle jolted. It started moving and then they were speeding across the hot expanse of desert. Hopefully they had a decent head start. If anybody followed them, they were up for a battle.

He could not remove his thoughts from scout though. He had no reason to worry about the enemy. It was the scout that had his mind, _his_ scout.

He huffed, relaxing into the corner. It was a very uncomfortable corner. There was no way to actually relax against it. He ended up shifting his position, time and again.

As the truck rolled over the open dirt, it jostled him about. This led to even more discomfort as he tried to find a way to just sit still. It seemed that all was done in vain.

 

*********************************************************************

 

“Do you know the vanity of rebels?” medic number one held his chin high.

He stood tall and proud. He held himself above the rest in a beautiful form. The way everyone shifted around him reminded him that all eyes were on him, but it also reminded him that he was in complete control of their fears.

He turned his grin to the monitor, which was being managed by a demoman. The demo glanced up at him with his one good eye, but then put his attention fully on the monitor. The man knew his place, after all. He would not overstep his bounds.

“They’ll reach dead man’s perch by sundown,” a scout reported, “At the purported speed they’re going, anyways.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight!” he waved dismissively at the scout.

“Sir?” medic number five stepped hesitantly towards him.

He did not look at the man, as if to avoid acknowledging him. He kept his attention on the monitor, showing the disappearing vehicles in the distance. Everything was coming together nicely on its own.

“Send out a truck of Spies,” he ordered, “Send a few snipers with them for backup. This is a stealth mission.”

“Sir, what are Spies going to do?” medic number four asked.

“Kill them all,” medic number one grinned with glee.

“Eh…” there was an exchange of glances, “Yea but…how? They have a balanced assembly.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes with irritation. Did he really have to explain everything? Really? What a bunch of bullshit. This was a very obvious solution to their problem of rebellion.

“You send the spies to where they are going to stop and rest. When the spies get there, they will sneak in and kill them in their sleep. Snipers can act as their backup. Am I clear on this now?” he asked, growing more frustrated the more he explained.

There was a bit of silence, with shared looks. He rolled his eyes, seeing as they could not understand. You worked with what you were given. When the results of your experiment turned out to be something else, you adapt to that situation.

Adapt he did, replacing the late medic number one quite recently. Nobody knew what happened. There was not even a sign of whether it really was a spy who had killed him or not. Either way, he could pin the blame on these rebels and destroy them all.

“We can simultaneously end the mass killings,” medic number one started explaining, “And get rid of these rebels.”

“What about the project?” medic number five practically squeaked nervously.

He turned to look at them, with a raised eyebrow. “You fools, this _is_ the project!” he gestured to the monitor as he bluffed.

With nobody above his current status to say otherwise, he could pretend like this was the plan all along. He would make it seem ingenious too. Plant some enemies amidst their own and wait until the rebels cropped up. This would be the perfect story to tell the others in regards to how the project was going.

“This is not what we were expecting,” medic number three argued, “This was supposed to have results for-”

“We don’t have time for results for anything else!” medic number one barked.

There was an exchange of glances. It put him off of his ease. He was not happy about it in the slightest.

“Do you all think you could do better with this project? Hmm? We don’t have time to mess around in other matters. This is a better resolution!” he announced proudly.

There was another exchange of looks. They were conspiring against him. He was sure of it.

“If anybody has objections, they can be banished to battle with other low clones!” he announced. That seemed to shut them up fairly quickly.

What a fun position this was. Ever since the previous number one had been found dead a few weeks ago, things had been changing. Things were not going to be run the old way. In fact, he had already started making gradual changes amidst the medics and it was working wonders.

“Now…I’ll be in my office,” he turned and started to the door, “I suggest that nobody need me.”

He proudly stepped through that door and headed down the hallway to his office. Halfway there, he heard the door behind him open and footsteps hurriedly following. No big deal. One of them probably needed to go to the labs for something that was forgotten. Maybe he wanted to get to his bunk and fetch a personal item.

He stopped at his door, sliding the gold hued key into the handle. It felt good to be number one. He got his own office, he was in control, and command did nothing to stand in his way. He was not sure if the higher ups were frowning at him vaguely or if they were commending him for taking up such power.

His thoughts were cut off by a sharp pain in his back. He cried out for pain before he cried out for help. Nobody seemed to hear his call. When he leaned back, his head falling with his body, he saw the faces of two other medics. It was medic number three and medic number six.

“We’ll see you in hell,” medic number three commented.

“Y-you…” medic number one fumbled, but could not get out the words. Everything went black and cold.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Medic had not realized he was dozing off until the spy suddenly spoke up. “How long is this going to take?” the spy asked.

“Reckon we got another two hours,” the engineer replied dutifully checking a piece of equipment he had with him.

“That is two hours that we are travelling faster than those bastards!” General announced proudly.

The medic rolled his eyes and rubbed his eye. It had been a long trip already. It was high time that somebody got a rest. He was fairly certain that they should break for camp in a few hours.

“God I can’t handle this,” the spy mumbled.

“What can’t you handle?” the medic asked.

The spy’s head snapped up and he looked at him. Only the rumble of the truck occupied the air. They were staring at each other in such complete silence that it was frightening. He wondered where it was that the spy thought the medic had overstepped his boundaries.

“I have to pee,” the spy said bluntly.

“We aren’t stopping for another two hours,” the engineer shook his head, “Hold it until then. That or…pee out the side.” He gestured with his thumb over the side of the truck.

The spy sighed, sagging his head back against the truck’s edge. He seemed like he was so done with this mission. It set the medic’s anxiousness on fire. He could only start imagining scenarios in which the spy betrayed them. He could sneakily kill them all so he could head back to his own base with the truck. He was a spy after all, he could not be trusted.

“Why are you staring?” the spy’s words broke his thoughts.

He shook himself free of his thoughts, finally meeting the spy’s gaze, “What?”

“You’ve been staring at me,” the spy gave him a suspicious look.

“No I haven’t!” the medic responded hastily, “I was zoning out. I’m tired.”

“Sure you were,” the spy said, eyeing him suspiciously.

The medic suppressed a groan. Not only was he miserable, but he was stuck in the same truck as somebody who was probably plotting against him at that moment. It was bad enough that the man had probably started all of this.

That thought came so suddenly that he needed another moment to think about it. It was like whiplash, coming back to that faint memory so many months ago, when he was late for the trucks. The scarf spy had specifically tried to keep him on base. He made him miss the time to get out of bed and get ready. He forced him to stop working on his tools. He caused him to be in that last truck with the snipers, instead of in the front with the heavy weapons guys and the soldiers.

The thought brought about a whole new level of rage. This man was the one who started all of this. This was the man who had put him through all of this hell. If not for him, nothing would have gone out of place, and he would have been in his usual seat in the first few trucks as he always was. He would have returned with them too, probably injured but able to go back to his work alone.

That was a luxury he could not afford anymore. Being alone seemed like an old memory. In fact, the thought of going back to being alone almost seemed terrifying.

If he was alone in his infirmary again, who could he trust? How would he go about his life without the old paranoia coming back? Not that it was ever gone, but when you can trust nobody it is even worse. There is no escape from the paranoia of a person standing alone.

Perhaps if he were alone though he could forget about all of this mess. It could be a faded dream. It was all just bad memories that would end soon. It was all coming to its final conclusion.

He glanced at the spy again, suspicious of the man’s motives. He had started the chain reaction that brought them to this point. Perhaps if the escape went better than planned he would have to thank him. He would not actually thank him though, that would just be a mental thing for himself. In fact, he would probably kill the spy, just to make sure that he never trespassed on him again.

As his mind drifted away from the spy, it settled on the scout. Seated comfortably in the passenger seat of a truck ahead of them, he doubted the younger mercenary wanted anything to do with him anymore. In regards to that relationship, everything was done. Not that it was an actual relationship- no!

He shook that thought away. Still, the heat of embarrassment had already blossomed across his face. He needed to stop thinking about scout. Scout was gone now, figuratively. He had moved on to the sniper in some strange way. For whatever reason, the sniper had taken a liking to the younger mercenary, and good for him. Let him get annoyed by the overly talkative youth. Medic had no time for it anyways. He needed more time to learn how to be alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original outline, this was going to be the part where the story ended. Things were much different though, with the spy being closer to the medic and pairing up with them as they escaped carnage. Things are going to be more than a little different though.


	20. Desert Drive Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mercenaries flee across the desert.

The low rumble of the truck beneath them was somehow comforting. The growl seemed to have lulled the medic to sleep. When he woke up, he felt something warm against his side.

He was hesitant to look at first. The weight was making his arm go numb though. His eyes moved to the corner of his vision, then his head slowly turned. He was surprised to see the scout leaning against him, fast asleep.

The scout’s face was fairly placid as he slept. His mouth hung open as he snored softly. He seemed to be sleeping more soundly than he had in months.

The exhaustion was worn into the young face. Round dark circles surrounded the shut eyes. Even just the way he snored seemed to give off how exhausted he was. The man needed sleep now more than ever before.

Aside from the occasional twitch and the soft breathing, the scout did not move. He was still as water. Pressed against him, he felt better than water. He was soft and warm. The presence was somehow enjoyable and welcoming. Part of him wanted to wrap an arm around the young man and just drift off like this.

The medic’s eyes moved down to the scout’s hand. It had fallen next to him, laying limply against the medic’s hand. The backs of their hands were pressed together, reminding him of the scout’s presence. A stray thought took him by surprise, as he imagined taking that hand in his own.

He shook the thought from his head, but he kept looking at the hand. He wanted to hold it. He wanted to intertwine their fingers. He wanted to remember what the feeling of holding hands was, by holding hands with the scout.

“Sorry about that,” the driver’s voice interrupted his thoughts. It jolted him from the pleasantries in his mind and forced him to realize the evident truth. “He sort of dozed off like that. I’m busy driving, so I can’t really pull him off of you. You can just push him this way.”

The medic let his head sink again and closed his eyes. Just play asleep. Just pretend. He would ignore the sniper and pretend that he did not know what the man was talking about. He would pretend not to notice the scout’s presence against his arm. He would pretend that their hands were not brushing against each other. Just for a little while, he would pretend that scout had not chosen the sniper.

 

 

The next time he roused, it was because something landed in his ribs. He grunted, irritated by the sudden pain in his side. He shifted and sat up. He quickly realized that the presence against his arm was missing.

He yawned and rubbed his eyes, before trying to get his bearings. Scout was still seated next to him, yammering obnoxiously. His arms were moving everywhere as he talked. He nearly hit the older man in the face.

“Watch where you are talking,” he growled.

He covered his mouth as he yawned again. He felt like he could sleep again. He wanted to go back to sleep, just to pretend a little longer that scout was not talking excitedly with the man he chose.

The sniper himself was nodding and chuckling. He kept his attention on the road, but there was a bit of attention for the scout. He kept his head slightly turned to show that he was keeping some attention on the fast-talking youth. There was even a small smile on his face as he listened.

“Oh hey, that looks like a good place to stop,” the scout pointed to some place.

The medic looked, but his eyes were too tired to see. He just sort of looked in the direction and blinked blankly. They must have passed it already, because all he saw was blank desert.

“No stopping,” the sniper said.

“Why not?” the scout asked.

“They’ll be expecting that,” the sniper insisted.

“Man, they can’t have already sent somebody! They gotta prepare and shit!” the scout threw his hands up in exasperation.

“An army can’t be after us yet,” the medic added, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

“We keep driving,” the sniper said sternly.

The scout groaned, “How much longer?”

“Until we get somewhere,” the sniper answered.

“But, where are we even going?” the scout asked with frustration.

“Anywhere,” the sniper replied.

“Anywhere is a fairly vague answer,” the medic intervened.

“Okay, civilization,” the sniper replied.

“You’re _still_ being vague!” the scout exclaimed.

“We don’t know what’s out there, scout!” the sniper snapped at him, “We have to get beyond their reaches. That means we have to go as far as we can, before stopping.”

“What if this is as far as we can go?” scout asked.

The sniper shook his head, “Not good enough. We keep going.”

“If we keep going like this, we’re going to wear out the vehicles,” said the scout.

“We’ll have to keep driving,” the sniper sighed, “We’re no doubt being chased.”

“And if we run the vehicles out?” the medic asked, with worry.

“We’ll have to risk it,” the sniper shook his head.

“Well um…” scout chewed on a fingernail nervously, “What if we do come to that? We run the vehicles out? Then what? We have no vehicles?”

“Scout has a point here,” the medic gestured to the younger mercenary.

“Well like, what could we even be chased by?” the scout went on, “We haven’t seen any other vehicles since we got out here! We got a head start and everything.”

“We don’t have to see them to know they are coming,” the sniper argued, “Besides, they are likely to send Spies.”

“They’re just Spies,” the scout protested, “Stupid sneaky bastards! Killed dozens of them! They’ll be nothing to handle.”

“Not if they sneak on us,” the sniper replied.

“Sneak on us? They’d be driving a vehicle tearing up dirt!” the scout protested, “Which we haven’t seen.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the sniper checked his sideview mirror.

“It _does_ matter!” the scout argued in frustration.

“Not as long as we stay ahead of them,” the sniper replied.

The cab fell silent. None of them wanted to speak. The medic eyed them thoughtfully, wondering what would happen next. Things had changed so quickly, that he was starting to think the scout was inching away from the sniper.

 

 

The night fell, and the truck kept moving. The silence was so stale that it began to reek. Then again, the medic was not sure that the sniper actually bathed.

His thoughts on this were interrupted as a small hand brushing his arm. His eyes moved slowly down to look at the hand. The fingers moved over his arm. He was surprised and moved his eyes up the arm to the face looking at him.

“Medic?” the scout asked quietly.

The medic was not sure why his face flushed. He could only imagine how red he had just turned. He had to swallow the frustratingly adrenaline boosted sensation that crawled up his throat.

“I…I uh…” the scout’s voice was weak, and his tongue licked his lips nervously.

“W-what is it, s-scout?” the medic replied.

“I wanted to um…” he hesitated, slowly glancing over at the sniper.

The sniper was busy driving. Sure, he could see them from his peripheral vision, but it seemed that he was ignoring them. He was either very preoccupied with driving and checking the mirrors, or he was trying to pretend that he was not paying attention to them.

“Yea?” the medic pressed the scout in a whisper.

“Well, today has been…hectic. Everything’s been…strenuous. It’s been difficult. We have both been through the ringer,” the scout explained slowly.

“Oh…yea we have,” the medic nodded.

“S-so,” scout huffed a nervous chuckle, “I mean I just…I wanted to…you know…”

“I’m not sure I do,” the medic replied. He wondered what it was that the scout wanted to say.

“Well…we’ve been through a lot together,” the scout nodded.

“Sure we have,” the medic nodded in agreement.

“Well…about that, I mean…” the scout sighed, closing his eyes as he thought about what he wanted to say.

“What do you mean? What is it, scout?” the medic asked.

“Give him a minute,” the sniper mumbled.

“Please um…” the scout turned to the sniper, “Could you give us a minute? Um…this is kind of…personal. You understand right?”

The sniper stiffened, “I um…alright. I understand.”

“Thank you,” the scout turned back to the medic.

The medic shifted in his seat. He reveled in the thought that the sniper was upset with some element of this. He was not sure what it was, but it made the sniper upset. Maybe it was jealousy? Whatever it was, it made the medic feel good, as if he was the one who truly held the scout’s attention.

“So um…” scout hesitated again as he shifted in his seat next to the medic.

“What is it s-” the medic was cut off by a loud pop.

The familiar sound of gunshot put them all on alert. One look in the rear-view mirror, and he could see the truck behind them swerving out of control. Something or someone had been hit in that vehicle.

“Dammit!” the sniper hissed as he slowed the truck.

“Don’t slow down!” the scout grabbed the stick shift, preventing him from shifting down.

“Dammit scout!” the sniper exclaimed, warring over the stick with the younger mercenary, “Let go!”

“You let go!” scout shouted.

“I’m driving! Get off!” the sniper yelled. He tried to shove him over with his shoulder.

Suddenly, their truck swerved over. The medic grabbed whatever he could, terrified of the upcoming event. He looked around in terror for information. He noted a strange vehicle that was not with them, reflected in the side view mirror.

“You’re gonna get us killed!” scout shouted.

“Let go of my shift!” the sniper protested angrily.

“There is another truck!” the medic announced.

Neither of them seemed to hear him, because they were still fighting over the stick shift. Neither of them even looked his way. Their shouting only grew louder and louder, bickering over whether to slow down or speed up.

“You are going to get us killed!” the medic announced. Still, they fought between themselves.

The medic looked around in panic, searching for something. He needed a weapon, anything that he could use. There had to be something to deter the oncoming vehicle.

He caught sight of a rifle and grabbed it. He ignored the barks that were directed towards him. He had a weapon, now his goal was to take out that strange vehicle.

“Holy shit! Medic!” he heard scout said, as he poked his head out the window.

A shot hit the metal and he immediately pulled back. His heart jumped into his throat, beating hard and fast. He was panting, but he swallowed it all down.

He slowly readied the rifle and moved towards the window. He poked the rifle out and tried shooting. It missed by a long shot, and the vehicle moved farther out of his line of sight.

“You ain’t no sniper, mate,” the sniper growled, “You’re not going to get it. They probably have ten snipers in that vehicle.”

“That’s way overestimating,” scout said, watching as the medic carefully reloaded the gun, “You can do it, medic!”

The medic huffed, trying to release all of the pent up anxiety. He held the gun with one hand, keeping it aimed at the sky. The other hand grabbed the top of the door and pulled his torso out the window.

“Keep it steady!” the scout urged the sniper.

“The hell do you think I’m doing?” the sniper growled at him.

He tuned them out as he aimed. A shot whizzed by him. It stung his ear, reminding him of all the shots a sniper had aimed his way, hoping to cripple his team by taking out their only medic.

With both hands, he cradled the gun, aiming it at the truck. By his calculations, he would get only one shot. It would be one shot to kill somebody, before the truck moved sideways again. He could already see the driver maneuvering towards the driver’s side of _their_ truck.

A pair of hands grabbed his legs. He could practically feel the scout’s nails digging into his thighs, in a desperate attempt to keep him from falling out. Up until this point, he had not even considered falling. That brought a new onslaught of terror to his mind.

He pulled the trigger and watched his shot. He smirked with satisfaction at the hole that created web-like cracks across the windshield. That truck swerved and lost control. The driver’s head bobbed and flopped against the steering wheel. The nearest passenger tried to gain control, but they spun out in the dirt.

“Go go go!” the medic shouted as he climbed back into the truck’s cab.

Not daring to give this a second thought, the sniper shifted gears and the truck sped away. The medic found himself panting, even though he was safely back in the cab of the truck. He was seated next to scout, who was panting as well.

“Gimme that,” the sniper reached across scout to pull the rifle from the medic’s grip.

“Holy shit!” scout breathed.

“You should be glad to be alive,” the sniper chastised.

“We should _all_ be glad to be alive!” scout protested, “He just saved our freaking butts!”

“He nearly got us all killed,” the sniper growled. He shot the medic a brief glare that lasted for a breath.

“He risked his life and it saved us all!” scout declared, “You could at least say thanks.”

The sniper hesitated for a heartbeat before he said, “Thanks.”

His tone was dripping with sarcasm. The medic did not doubt that they were somehow enemies now. That was fine by him. He had barely trusted the sniper to begin with.

At least, they could take a breath of relief for now. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed that even their comrades had escaped. The whole lot of them were escaping to freedom and there was no turning back now.

“Oh my God,” the scout breathed.

“What is it?” the medic asked, warily.

The younger man had wide eyes, opened as big as dishes. There was a bright light in them, as he stared out the windshield. His toothy grin spread from ear to ear, revealing his ecstatic nature.

“We’re free,” scout said.

He began laughing. He threw his hands up into the air, shaking balled fists like some lunatic. He closed his eyes for a few moments, and took a deep breath.

He let it out and opened his eyes, “We’re free at last!”

“We’re not out of it yet, mate,” the sniper warned, “So don’t get too excited.”

“We’re so far ahead of them,” the scout gave the sniper a playful punch in the shoulder.

“I’m not worried about _them_ anymore,” the sniper said, shifting in his seat, “But we’ve got a lot ahead of us.”

The scout looked to the medic, as if he might have the answers. They shared a look in silence, before settling in. They sat in their seats, watching as the desert came towards them, never ending, as if there was no beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look! I actually finished a chapter of this!


End file.
